


winters nigh and summers o’er

by AceQueenKing



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: 76 Kisses Challenge, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 19:19:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 178,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: A collection of one-shots centered on Hades and Persephone's relationship; stories are non-chronological but all within the same timeline. Warnings and ratings are on individual chapters since these run the gamut from G to E.New:“Persephone,” he murmured; he touched her knee. If she needed to make herself busy, well, he was a master of finding ways to occupy himself, and he knew it was time to tell her his plans for the day. “Let’s go out."





	1. When I was Drinking (When I was with You) [Ch #3. Drunk/Sloppy Kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hades gestured for her whiskey, topped up his glass, then put the bottle down under the table, which was his subtle way of tellin’ Persephone she’d had enough; she reached under the table and took a long swig straight from it, lookin’ at him the whole time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a few years pre-Hadestown.
> 
> Rating: M  
> Warning(s): discussions of alcoholism and sexual references

Persephone liked to drink for a lot of reasons.

One, it tended to taste good; a little bit of poison from the fruit of her vines made her feel...electric. _Fluid_. It made her feel, just a little bit, _free._ Made her feel like she could harness the lightning that ran through her bloodline and along Hades’ wires. It made her move easier, dance faster; made her smile with abandon and ease up all those long winter nights. Like her, it was poisonous; like her, it was healing. It was a dichotomy in a bottle, just like her, except for the _in the bottle_ part. Though she thought, sometimes, Hades would keep her in a bottle if he could.

He looked at her from across the table, the whiskey bottle in his hands. He poured himself a rare second drink, tilted it toward her. She nodded. Hades didn’t mind a drink but he never quite drank enough to really _get it_ as a hobby; he liked it as an appetizer, a one and done shot of whiskey or firewater or whatever he was sipping. He’d take quality over quantity; a private drink over a social one. He liked to drink as a sort of…muscle relaxant, she supposed, for it certainly never loosened his tongue, no matter how much she wanted it to.

Not like her, no; she was a real chatterbox once she’d gotten a drink or twenty in her, and to his admittedly limited credit, he never seemed to mind. He clinked the bottle of whiskey against her cup, poured her a bit more as they sat on their balcony, watchin’ the world above, the world below. Things changed at a glacial pace, they played games; Persephone drank. He poured her another round, smaller still; he had not yet finished his previous. She snapped back hers, then took his half-finished drink, downed it in one go, too. Spring was coming, and the resentment was building back into the permafrost on his skin and she hated it, hated it. She took the bottle, poured herself a shot and then another shot in his glass. She drank hers, and, a second later, drank his.

“Your turn,” he said, soft; he read the newspaper as she looked at her last domino piece.  Used to be he’d look at her when she was making her play, and she told him so. His lips quirked into something that might have been a smile, once.

“You told me it made you nervous,” he said, putting the paper down with a dedicated _snap_ and flourish; that was Hades, wasn’t it? Snap and flourish. Clean and professional. Touch ya like he’s your everything, then back up after lovin’ you into a grave like he wasn’t anything to you at all. Too brief, too cold. Too cold a man and yet eternally her lover. She longed for his touch; would she melt his frost if she reached out and tried? Or would he just freeze to her, his skin permanently affixed to her own? He wouldn’t mind it, she thought, them livin' like that, and she wasn’t sure if she would. He was impossible to love and impossible not to; the thought of his lips on hers made her feel warmer than the whiskey’s burn.

She stared at him, well aware her vision was a bit blurry; even for a goddess, she’d drank pretty hard today, not that it could kill her. She moved her piece without looking, snarling at him. “Take that,” she slurred, and he chuckled. She poured herself a double. He gestured for the bottle, topped up his, then put her whiskey down under the table, which was his subtle way of tellin’ her she’d had enough; she reached under the table and took a long swig straight from it, lookin’ at him the whole time.

He didn’t break her look, but he didn’t say anything either. Typical Hades; sometimes she wondered if he said more than six words while she was gone up top. She licked her lips and debated throwing herself across the table, but such was a better move to be played on her own turn and she was out of hands this round.  He looked away first, glancing at the piece she’d played; a 5 and 5, the last in her hand. Strategically worthless, but she wasn’t gonna go back to the boneyard for it. _Fates_. Even in games, they couldn’t get away from death; there was something as too much _aesthetic,_ she thought, and yet Hades didn't seem to know that. She put down the bottle. He played his piece; somehow, of course, he’d had a 5 for his last domino. They were always completing one another, and that hurt, because it shouldn’t be so hard to be happy, if they were so good at bein’ on the same page. Shouldn’t be so hard to love him. She missed lovin’ him, wanted him to love her again, not just in the passive way he always did but the active way, the way he used to literally chariot up above just to swoop her down below and take her into her bed and lock them in their room for six  months, mad and in love and dying and bein’ reborn every minute. Now he swooped up and grabbed her, alright, but it felt like held her at an arm's distance all winter long. She hated it. 

“Game set,” he said, leaning back. “Match.”

“Hmph.” He’d won; there was a time in the past when he’d have smiled about that, would have kissed her in consolation. She’d fought him tooth and nail, had scored on every point but the final one; nearly his match this time, but not quite. She’d win next time, he’d win another, and what did it matter? Time was endless. Entropy was boundless. They existed since time began; would exist until time ended. Would they still be in love then? She wasn’t sure. The world spun on. She wanted it to go backward. It wouldn’t.

“Another game?” she asked, and he shook his head. She drank again, whiskey burning her almost as much as his look, heavy-lidded and sad. He was gonna leave her, go lock himself in his office and burn through paperwork, thinkin’ it made him a good husband for _providin’_ and not a coward for _avoidin’_. She could smell it on ‘im.  She took another shot.

“Think you’ve had enough.” It was the closest he’d come to outright criticism with her; he stood and she stood after him, accidentally knocking into the table. He held out a hand; gentlemanly, as always, but cold. Impersonal. He’d have offered a hand for her pa, for ma, for any soul who’d given him a sob story that he’d deal only death to in return; only mercy he knew how to provide. She was tired of it. She wasn’t a visitor here, even if she was gone six months of the year. And she didn’t want to be treated like one.

She shoved him against the wall.

“Since when do you decide when I have enough?” She asked; he raised an eyebrow. She touched his cheek – it was cold. She tilted her chin up and grabbed his; he got the idea and leaned down ‘til they were touchin' foreheads. His arms curled around her waist, she dragged his arms lower ‘til they were on her ass.

“I decide,” she murmured, her lips so close to his patrician face she could feel his heavy exhale. She grabbed his cheeks, brought him closer still, and then told him her jubilant pledge in a heavy whisper: “What I want. When I want it.”

“Of course,” he hissed; he opened his mouth to say something else, but she wasn’t interested in hearing him so much as feeling him and captured his mouth in a dizzying kiss, her hands capturing the way he melted with longing into her arms. It was a good kiss, always a good kiss with Hades; she pushed her tongue into his mouth and he dueled with her, not playful, for he never was, but struggling, viciously, to win some sort of unspecified war between them.  His tongue sought some terminus in her, pursuing her like a hawk, and she held him tighter, wanting to melt together, to exist together, for as long as it was possible to do so. It was easier when she was drunk, when some of her barriers fell away.  Not that his barriers ever dropped; he was building interior walls to rival their outdoor ones.

But for now, his hand on her ass tightened; he found her argument persuasive. A whistle blew in one of his factories; he didn’t look up and neither did she. She ran her leg down his and felt him hiss; he broke the kiss then, going for her neck, his teeth nipping at her.

“I want you,” she spit out in what was little better than an alley-cat howl; she shoved him back toward his chair, threw herself on top of him in a way that ma might have called wanton but ma nature wasn’t here and she sure as fuck wasn’t going to think about her ma with Hades under her. His fingers slid to her waist, then lower, rubbin’ her thighs. Her skirt was hiked up enough to give anyone foolish enough to try to get into Hades office a hell of a show; she didn’t give a fuck.

“I _want_ you,” she yowled again; he chuckled, grabbed her face and pulled her real close, finger-light kisses going on her mouth and on her neck, light and sweet but a shadow of the heavy touch he’d use in the old days. She had an idea, a good idea, of how to get his attention back. A hot idea. Yeah!  He was gonna _love_ it. “No,” she said, and he pulled back, one eyebrow raised.

“No?”

She swung down low in an ungraceful movement, grabbed the bottle, took a sip, held it. He sighed; obviously disappointed. Ass. Why couldn’t’ he be anticipating this? It was gonna be – gonna be hot as hell.  Which they were in. Right now.  Hee, _hot-as-hell-and-hot-in-hell_ ; she chuckled and a bit of the whiskey leaked out her mouth; whoops. That wasn’t so sexy.

To take his mind off of her dribbling, she grabbed his vest and yanked him _real close_. She forced his mouth open and poured the drink from her mouth into his; she kept her hands on his head to make sure he didn’t buck away and wind up spilling in his lap. Her tongue savored the taste of the liquor in his mouth; it tasted different with Hades than it did with her. He held the liquor for a good minute, and she wondered if maybe it was enough that – maybe he’d understand. Why she drank. Why she wanted him when she drank. Why she drank because she wanted him back, even when she wasn’t drinking.

He swallowed and pulled back; wiped his mouth. She did a good job, not much of it spilled. A couple of spots on his shirt; oh well. In this heat, they’d dry.

“I want _you_ ,” she said softly, leaning forward and sucklin’ on his earlobe. He wriggled underneath her, visibly uncomfortable; it was one thing for him to touch her in public,  whole ‘nother thing for her to touch him in public. He never minded the first, always minded the second, and never once saw it as a double standard.  Stupid asshole; beloved asshole, too. “I _miss you_ ,” she whispered.  

“I’m here,” he said, in his gravel-deep voice; he grabbed her face again, directing her back to another long kiss. She wiggled against his cock; he was getting hard, and she liked that. That…was good. He still wanted her. She liked him wantin’ her. She moved her hand under his waistband, years of practice making it easy to thwart his belt; he kept too much locked away. She wasn’t able to get a full hand around him, too big for that already, but the soft groan in his throat told her he liked her attempt. His hands were wanderin’ now, and she wondered if anyone looked up, saw them like this; would have been a common enough show, long ago. Before she drank so much, before he read the paper cover-to-cover ‘cuz he didn’t want to look at her. She ran a finger down the most sensitive part of ‘im, and was rewarded with a full body shudder that set every nerve in both of them aflame.

“ _Lover_ ,” he cried out; it was a half-strangled thing, his voice: loud and vulnerable and hot as hell. She moved to try to unbutton his pants, get him out in the open when she could get that cock in her, but he denied her, moving his big arms up around hers and pushin’ her hands up on his shoulders. She looked at him, pouting, and he gave her a goofy half-smile, the sort she’d never seen him have for anyone else.

“What the fuck are you–“ she started to say, but then he pulled her closer, one hand under her ass and the other goin’ under her skirt, gently pushing the thin material of her panties aside. Oh. Okay. This she – this she liked. He liked too; made it easier for both of them if he started with his fingers, though she didn’t think he had to worry much about it tonight. She was already so wet for him; she howled, a wild-cat ready to be mated. “You _feel_ what you do to me, husband?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, breathing heavy. “Oh, _yes_.”  He dove in for another kiss. He was a hungry man, yes, and her, too; his fingers glided into her, two fingers right away and no resistance, _fuck_ , how did he do this to her, barely touching her but making her so wet? His thumb caressed her clit and she mewled, honestly _mewled_ ; moving her hips in an age-old rhythm she wanted more of.

“Kiss me, wife,” he muttered; she denied him, her lips going to his ear instead, sucking on his ear-lobe until he made a low groan; the finger at her clit faltered for one second, then pressed harder. She lit a trail of kisses to his big iron jaw and then practically swallowed his tongue. He moaned in response, his hips jutting as his fingers curled deep inside her, curled so hard she saw stars and she wanted him, wanted more than his hands and his stupid mouth, wanted his thick cock sending her right through their big bed and wanted it right the fuck _now_.  

“Fuck me,” she growled. His response was immediate; he picked her up, both hands under her ass. He was always strong, so strong, fuck, he was the earth beneath her feet (literally, sometimes), and she wanted – _wanted_ him. Wanted to touch him, _needed_ to touch him.  He wasn’t that sure on his feet when she was kissin’ him—and she was plenty kissin’ him—but he managed to get the door to his office open without dropping her. He didn’t bother to close it in a rare moment of prioritizing her over his workspace, taking her hastily past tables filled with every kind of contract through another set of double doors to an old hallway and then crossing into their private chambers, to her bed, his bed;  _their_ bed.

“Fuck,” she muttered and he chuckled; he put her down and all but threw himself on top of her, so big, her husband, so big; he was bred by the Titans, and in the bedroom, he looked the part, something older, wilder, than her. He pulled off her dress, let it drop to the floor. Didn’t take off his clothes yet, just swung her back into his lap as he scooted back to their headboard. His hand waved and the door shut. His hand waved and her clothes were folded neatly on her chair. Old man, such an old man, so practical; how did she love him so much?

“I love you,” she muttered; heard him suck in a breath before he reclaimed her lips; whiskey burn nothing compared to his stubble on her chin.  His head dipped lower, kissing her neck, then lower still. His tongue lathed at a nipple; she hissed. “I _love you_.”

“Love you, too,” he said, head down as he kissed her chest, his mouth right over her heart, and it was a cheesy move but oh, how it made her wet. No more teasin’. She was tired of it.

“Get yer—get your cock in me,” She grunted. She dragged her fingers down his back, wishin’ she knew how to get his clothes off without havin’ to watch. Not that she minded the show. “I want you. Now.”

He smiled and moved her delicately off his lap, sliding her toward his side of the bed and kissin’ her a few more times till she growled in frustration and he backed off. He shrugged off his vest, tossing it down, then his shirt. She ran her hand appreciatively over war-scars older than she was; the wall, they’d called him in the war, and he was still that now, and she hated it, but she loved it, too.

He stood to pull his pants off and she waited, all naked and ready; she laid herself out temptingly, her hand hitting a bottle she’d left on his side of the bed as he undid his fly – he froze. The clink heard 'round the underworld. Shit.

He bent down over her, picked up the empty bottle. His pants, annoyingly, stayed on. What was it she'd had before he’d come over to play a game? She tried to remember. He read the label.

“Absinthe?” He shook his head. “When?” He was quiet, which was worse than when he was angry. Sad Hades didn’t want to fuck her, angry Hades sometimes would. He sat back down on the bed at her side. “This wasn’t here when I left.”

“I dunno,” she sighed. “This morning. I think.” It was easy to lose time in the underworld; at first, it had no light, and she’d felt lost in that. Then, he’d invented lights that he ran every hour, but never got that it was just as bewildering to have eternal day as eternal night. Stupid man. “Wasn’t much left, maybe a drink or two.”

“…It was full before you came back this fall. You’re not leaving for another week.” He turned to her, his face hard as steel; ah, fuck. She curled up on his shoulder, sending him her best _fuck-me_ smolder; he just turned the bottle over in his hands. “Are you so miserable you have to…?”

She groaned into his shoulder. There wasn’t a good answer to that question, cuz she was, and it was his fault, but it wasn’t really _him_ , per se, and it wasn’t really her, either, and it was _complicated._ She put a hand, suggestively, over his crotch, trying to salvage things. “Can’t we talk about this _later_?” 

“I do not want to fuck a woman who does not wish to share my bed,” he said, and the words came bitter; tart. She felt sick and it wasn’t the booze. He sighed. “I’ll go. Check in on you a bit, make sure you’re not…sick.”

And there he was, the great man turnin’ his back. As always. Love her and leave her, just like she did him. Every damned year.

“Wait,” she said; he turned. His face was neutral, damn him; she didn’t understand it, didn’t understand _him_. She felt like bawling her eyes out and there he was, face like granite and stone. 

He sat on the bed. Wordless. Waiting. Makin’ her make the first move, just like he had, all those years ago, when she'd first asked him for a kiss in mama's garden.

“It ain’t that I don’t want ya.” She held out her arms, felt something blur the corners of her eyes that she ignored. Just – just a bit of liquid. He fell into her at once, his great bulk, and she closed up her hands over him. “It ain’t that at all. You still drive me _crazy_.” In every sense of the word, but that, too, was a conversation for later. “It’s just…it’s _hard_ , being here, Hades. It hurts.”

“I know.” He folded himself around her; big and bulky and everywhere at once. His lips were on her forehead, sweet and shy, and maybe she did cry a bit, pulling her arms around him. His hard lips kissed those tears away, and she loved him so much she wished this wasn’t so gods damned _difficult_. His kisses tasted like regret; his voice was smoky with it. “Ain’t fair to you. If I had known all those years ago…”

But, of course, he hadn’t, and, truthfully, she would still be like this even if his bettin’ was better, even if he’d wound up with Poseidon’s grand boat or papa's mountain-retreat. She never liked mountains or seas any better than dirt. She thought they were always going to wind up like this, truthfully, and that was the worst part.  She was seasonal. She wasn’t ever good about staying in one place, even if she just wanted to be with this one man. She changed everything she touched, and everything she touched, changed. Blessin' and a curse.

She held him tight and wiggled against him; he’d gone flat on her and she was sad, still wanted him more than anything and now she wouldn’t have it. “I want you,” she mewled, and he just smiled, sad, and tucked her head into his big neck and kissed her forehead, like he could shelter her from anything. She wished he could, but the storm raged all inside her. “Please?”

“Later. When you’ve sobered up a bit.” He rubbed the top of her head with heavy fingers; nothing about him was delicate, she thought, except his stupid feelings. Stupid. They were both _so_ stupid. “Want ya to remember it when I make you come,” he whispered, rubbing harder, a bit of the desire still in his voice. “Want you to remember _me_ when...” He faded off, but she knew what he meant: when she left.

She always did in the springtime and ached for him all through the summer, though he never seemed to realize it. Dumb asshole. But sayin’ that would start a fight, and she was so tired of fighting, so she didn’t say anything. She threw her arms over his neck like a vice and closed her eyes. If she breathed in enough, she could smell him all around her, and wrapped up like this, she could pretend he was more fire than ice.

“Will you stay with me?” She asked, knowing it wasn’t what he’d prefer; he’d rather go work a few hours and pretend like they weren’t drowning in this bed full of sorrow. “I don’t wanna be alone when the high fades.”

It was unusual for her to ask, she knew, and something unknowable on his face shifted, for just a moment. She kissed him, because she didn’t want to see it; couldn’t bear to see him perhaps pity her, or worse, _resent_ her. The worst part was, he kissed her back, and she felt all the love that he had stored up in that big, dumb body for her, and yet, still, he wasn’t within her. Still, the space between them remained.  And she still didn’t know, really, how to get past that, because the drink made her tongue quicker but not quick enough and he—he just was himself, all rocks and steel; cold, cold, cold, even warmed up against her body.

“Okay,” he said, quiet, like he knew just how exhausted she was, or maybe he just didn’t want to talk anymore; he pulled the covers over them, big heavy covers they’d had so long they smelled like them both now, a mix of his ashy-soot scent and her floral smell, sickly sweet like rot. No matter how many times she washed them, their scents clung to it, interweaving.

She held tight onto him and breathed deep and felt him all around her, and thought maybe if she closed her eyes and wished real hard, they’d be in the garden all those years ago; could try again. He held her tight and she wondered, for half a boozy second, if maybe he was wishin’ the same.


	2. Bramble, Briar, and Thorn [23. Exhausted parent's kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do you want…?” Seph bit her lips and Demeter glared into her brother, because he damn well was at the moment of truth and if he blew it so help Zeus she would hurt that man. Demeter would garden Hades like a particularly caustic onion if she had to. Maybe cut off a few shoots, too – wasn’t like they wouldn’t grow back. Eventually._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place six months after the end of _Hadestown_. 
> 
> Rating: G for all audiences  
> Warning(s): Pregnancy

Demeter eyed the train tracks as the train came a stormin’ on. She glanced back at her daughter Persephone – still sleepin’ at the stop, spread out over the damn bench like a sacrifice, hand on her belly – and gathered her courage.

The old man – her baby brother, but he’d been old _forever_ , even when they were young– came down the tracks in his big ol’ train, which Demeter was sure was compensating for _somethin’,_ but they were past the point of petty insults right now in their relationship and, given recent developments, Demeter was trying to be in a forgiving and forgetting mood.

Still, Demeter held tight to her daughter’s luggage, not so much as daring to blink as she waited for the man to slow down and stop, which he did, though he made a real wreck of it, only hitting the brakes at the very last second. It was almost miraculous Seph could sleep through it, but then Seph hadn’t had an easy time of it lately. Demeter checked her watch: 12:00 pm exact. Ain’t nothin’ more exacting to the absolute second than death, she thought. She never liked her brother much but would give him credit for that: in the underworld, the train ran on damned time. Heh, _damned time_ ; that was a good enough joke she’d tell Seph when she was in the mood for a laugh again. Was a harmless enough joke that even her good-for-almost-nothing brother might find it funny.

Hades threw the door to her daughter’s car open, and Demeter watched with cool eyes as she took him in for the first time in six months. She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d all been together without bein’ at one another's throats before that. She’d barely seen him six months past; he’d been hidden behind her daughter’s bags and had barely said five words to her. Now exposed, she took a good look at him. He’d aged more than she’d realized, and somehow that was surprising even though she had gone and done the same; her stomach finally filled out with motherly paunch, her hair finally gone all grey. His, somehow, had gone _white_ , a shock of snow on that ol’ patrician face of daddy’s that Hades had finally, at long last, grown into. Body-wise he was mostly the same, big on top and super skinny underneath; still as broad in the chest as he always was, with legs too long and skinny for his own good. And still way too pale; if she was as dark as the earth, he was as pale as a death cap mushroom burstin’ up from the underneath.  Hard to believe her brother and her were the same species, let alone siblings.

“Well if it isn’t Demeter _Carpophoros_ ,” he said, bowing with a hint of sarcasm dripping from his tongue. Demeter took no offense at this. He was **always** a little shit. “Nice to see ya, though you aren’t who I was expectin’.”

He looked beyond her, and Demeter took in all the little signs of his anxieties that she knew he wouldn’t admit to: his sleeves were rolled up, so no doubt he’d  been pacin’; he had a slight frown in his face, and she knew he wondered if this was _it,_ Persephone packin’ up his bags and sendin’ her momma to send him home alone; his eyebrows were moving behind those contemptible sunglasses, so she knew he was ruthlessly evaluating Demeter, trying to  decide what her story was and why she was here and thus, how rude he should be. Hades thought he was intimidating, but he had forgotten Demeter knew him from the moment he was born, and ain’t nothin’ _intimidatin’_ about a man once you changed his diapers, even death incarnate.

“She’s here, but…You and me? We gonna have a little _talk_ first.” She shoved him back into his damn train car and Hades let her; he knew better than most what her wrath looked like. She held out Persephone’s luggage; her girl was packin’ light this year, just a couple of bags. Not bringin’ the drink cut her baggage down a lot, and Demeter was glad of that, provided this big lug didn’t make her baby girl wanna start drinkin’ again.  “Make yourself useful, brother.”

“First time you’ve called me that in a long time,” he drawled. “This it?”

“That’s it.” He frowned, but he took her daughter’s things and slowly, reverently put them on a luggage rack. He even tied them down which Demeter supposed was a good sign that he would be responsible enough to handle a small infant on his own in the summertime. Mostly. He was still a male god, and they were almost all useless in that department. Maybe since he was so old for a first-time father, he’d be old enough he’d actually figure out how to change a diaper instead of demanding a woman do it.

“Yeah, well. Maybe you can get used to me callin’ you brother again, if you keep behavin'.” He chuckled at that and dared to shoot her a little nervous grin. Demeter could always tell the difference on him; his tell was that the nervous smile was wider than the genuine, him showin’ off just a bit too much of those mean teeth. He stood to his full height as if he was readin’ her mind and didn’t like that she knew him _that_ well. Or at least, she had, once. He looked down at her and she looked up. She felt her old annoyance at how he got to be so damn tall, like dad; she flecked off his sunglasses, an old-ass instinct that made her smile before she’d quite realized she had done it.

“Hey…” He blinked, confused as she tucked the sunglasses into his pocket. He wasn’t used to the upper world light. Too bad. She wanted her daughter to see him god damn plain when he saw her.

And, hell, she wouldn’t deny she wanted to see his expression, too.

“Sit.” He did, spread out like a king: legs wide, hands on his knees. He looked straight at her face, deadly serious, and she took her seat on the opposite side. She would give Hades credit for one thing: the seats on this jalopy were pretty comfy. And she supposed that the style wasn’t bad, if you considered saloon-room meets funeral parlor an _aesthetic._

“What’s this about, Deme?”  His old childhood nickname for her slipped out of his mouth effortlessly, and she didn’t call him on it. She’d give him that back. If they were gonna be tryin’, then she would be, too.

“Our girl.” She snorted. “What else?”  He was a part of Seph just as much as Demeter was, no matter how much Demeter didn’t like admittin’ that. They had been married a good few millennia now, so she supposed he was bound to rub off on her little girl a bit.

“What about her? Is she okay?” His words were all _sotto_ -voice; soft, soft, soft. She could hear the love in his voice there, and fates only know how he got it in him, that love, because Hades had been colder than stone for the first forty thousand years of his life and, judging by all the war reports Demeter had gotten from Seph, he slipped right back into that damn often. Still, Demeter was almost thankful for him feelin’ that love, at least right now. There were worse men her baby girl could have reproduced with, if certainly there were better men, too. Least he was _reliable._

“She’s sleepin’.”  
   
“…Sleeping?” He looked at her oddly. “Thought you said she was _here_.”

“She is. Sleepin’ on a bench out there. Exhausted, the poor little thing. Nodded off when we got here an hour ago. Didn’t even wake up when you pulled in.” Despite what was surely his best attempt to get her attention with that terrible din and clanging.

“Sleeping? At this hour?” He looked out into the sunlight, as if he was puzzled anyone could sleep in daytime. She supposed that was a normal enough reaction if someone was a miserable old mole who spent all day every day in the dark, which he was. “She okay?”

“Physically? Right as rain, but that girl is _exhausted_. She been worryin’ herself six months straight about you, _boy_ ,” she said, pointing her finger at his chest; she was probably one of only three people who could get away with calling Hades that and she basked in it. “I want you to know something, Hades: my daughter wrote you one hundred and eighty-two versions of the same damn letter, only to tear each and every one of ‘em up. I been watchin’ her tear those – and herself – up for months. _Months_. Ain’t been fun.”

“Oh.” He frowned, slightly pensive. Which was more expressive than he usually was, with anyone but Seph.

“I didn’t save’em, I respect her privacy too much for that.” And she _had_ promised not to tell him, even if she wanted, _badly_ , to do so.  
  
“Well...I didn’t get any of ‘em, but...We left on good terms, Deme. Better than…years.” He smiled a bit at that, and she wanted to roll her eyes, bite back and tell him, _I know, how do you think my baby girl got herself in this mess?_ But she couldn’t say that, because he didn’t know about that mess just _yet_. He was still smiling, and, on another man, it might have been cute, but on him it came off as vaguely predatory; bragging. He didn’t need to. Frankly, everybody in the damn pantheon knew they on good terms; this had been the first springtime in years. Decades, even. ‘Bout to see the first autumn, too. He didn’t need to shout to the world they’d repaired their off-key tempo, the whole world could see it. _Obvious_.

Demeter frowned into her seat, debating how to best give her baby brother her …expectations as to how he should react to news she couldn’t give. Seph had made her swear a Stygian oath on not tell ’im, and Demeter wasn’t willing to get washed down to Hades’ awful shores just yet for this, even if it meant more time with her daughter. “Ain’t about yer _relationship_. Something more basic than that. Some…life changes. She worries about your reaction because she’s a …a little bit different, then when she left ya last winter.”

“Oh.” He looked confused at that and she supposed she couldn’t blame him, because if you fired blanks for hundreds of thousands of years, you did tend to assume your pistol wasn’t loaded. Turned out, he was just a bad shot.  A _ridiculously_ bad shot. But that wasn’t what he thought of; she could tell what he _was_ thinkin’ of because he was lookin’ at her real intently, and she knew he was wonderin’ if maybe his girl was startin’ to look a little less too-young for him, and a little more like her momma. To his credit, he shook his head a second later. “So what if she goes a bit grey? We’ll match.”

 _Ain’t no way you two ever match_ , Demeter thought, but kept herself from saying. Persephone would be proud of her momma’s restraint, she thought. Well, she’d let him think it was a little grey hair for a bit.

“Good. Cuz I ain’t sayin’ it’s you, but her daddy…he didn’t react too good to this kind of thing, and that’s the only frame of reference she’s got for this and she’s _scared_. So you better do better than your brother. You go over there and you hold her and you tell her she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve _ever_ seen. Cuz you’ve put our girl through enough, you owe her that relief.”

“I know,” he mumbled, quiet; his cheeks were a bit pink, which meant he was at least a _bit_ sorry for almost ending the world over his stupid-ass insecurities. “I… I _am_ trying, Deme.” He said, visibly pained with his arms out, as if she’d been holding a gun on him; honestly, only great Gaia knew how he’d ever gotten to the point of bein’ able to tell her little girl _anything_ , let alone marryin’ him, if he was still gonna be like this.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” She stood and he stood, too; they were done for the year. Autumn chill was in the air, and it was high time for Demeter to press some cider and for him to get along home. “Guess it’s time she goes back down to yer old abode, now.”

He nodded; Demeter stood to the side, let him go blinking into the sun, and followed closely behind. If he blew this, in any way, she would bury his ass in the backyard for a full six months and her daughter could visit him outside and water him with their ferns.  Demeter had checked with Zeus; that would technically count as allowing him his six months, long as he got to be with her.  Seph wouldn’t mind campin’ outdoors to fulfill his custody to the full letter of the law.

“Third row.” He tossed a raised eyebrow back at her – normally Seph sat up front, bright and ready —  well, she had back when he’d actually _waited_ instead of just grabbin’ her soon as he got an itch, regardless of if it was June or August or gods forbid, _May_  – but well, he’d figure out the obvious reason in a moment. She noted his step got a bit faster, and she followed hot on his heels as he went down one row, two.

And then his breath caught. And he stopped. Demeter stopped next to him, watched him watch her little girl, all curled up with one hand over her wide, curving belly. Still looked a bit too much like a sacrifice for Demeter’s taste, but hell, that was probably a turn-on for him. 

“Oh.” It was all he said, but there were thousands of emotions in it. He raised a hand, dropped it. Looked at her, blinked, looked back at Persephone. “Oh!” He said again, and Demeter had the pleasure of the King of the Dead completely, utterly _shell-shocked._

Which, frankly, she savored. Wasn’t like he hadn’t pulled out the rug from under her once; they were even now.

“You see,” was all she said, quiet. She coulda bragged, but again, for their girl, she would restrain herself. She didn’t know if they had ever talked about kids; she’d tried to talk to her daughter about it long ago, but all Seph would say then was that they weren’t tryin’ _yet_ in a harsh voice, and eventually one did stop asking after a few thousand years went by without a grandchild poppin’ up.  Her brothers gossiped that Hades’ takin’ on the role of the underworld’s master had dried up whatever he had stored up in his balls, but her brothers were idiots who frequently forgot there had been a god of the dead before Hades, and Iapetus had had five children during his time guardin’ the old downstairs. She thought it was probably the stress on her little girl from the constant travel, or a genuine desire from the both of ‘im to not make their frankly fucked up situation at the best of times even more so, but well — it hadn’t happened. And before this, she thought, that was probably for the best.

But now it had.

And Hades was — well, processing, because he clearly believed it would never happen either.

“Six months?!” He said, gesturing at her. “She couldn’t… _Six months_?!”

“Hundred and eighty letters, Hades,” she said, holding her hands out. “I know you might be mad, but – she's been _distressed_. Made me swear to not say a word, and gave Hermes such a run-around I think that old gossip is still dizzy. Come at her with venom in your mouth and you _will_ lose her.” Truth was, Demeter understood why her daughter had been unable to tell him.

He exhaled, loud, through his mouth. Typical to Hades, he offered no indication of whether he was gonna take her advice or not.

She saw that big jaw move in an unreadable _mull_ twice, then he closed the distance between him and their girl, falling to his knees in front of her. He ran a very shaky hand over Seph’s face, not quite daring to touch, just yet.

“You’re a little late, sunshine,” he sputtered; he stroked her face gently and Seph’s eyes opened, lookin’ like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. She stared hard at his face, like she was trying to discern some divine truth out of his face, and he swallowed, but otherwise kept his face as stoic as the rock he generally was.

“I missed ya,” she murmured. His voice crumbled into something that might have been a laugh or a sob in response, but Seph smiled, and she decided it must be some joke between them that Demeter wasn’t privy to. Hades leaned forward, and Demeter blinked in surprise as her baby brother planted a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. She suspected he might kiss her on the mouth if Demeter wasn’t around, but well, Demeter was kind of happy he didn’t.  Weren’t on _that_ good of terms yet. Seph wrapped her arms around him and hung onto him with desperate zeal, eyes shut tight, and Demeter knew her little girl was still nervous, though why she had no idea because it wasn’t like the man was _blind_ , for all the time he spent down in the mines.

“Missed you, too.” The sotto voice again; soft and sweet as Hades got, which wasn’t very but evidently was enough for her little girl. His hand was caressing her arm now; trying to get up the courage to go further down she suspected. Seph shrugged him off a bit, pushed up to a sitting position or at least attempted to; Demeter did not miss that part of being pregnant, and Seph was larger now than she’d been right before her little girl had come.  After watchin’ her struggle for a moment, Hades stumbled to help her maneuver up. She expected him to get up and grab her hand, let them finish this conversation on the train in private, but — he didn’t. Instead, he just shifted a bit, moving between her legs so he could lay the side of his head on her belly.

Nobody moved for a long, long moment.

“...'s yours—" Seph said, and Hades and Demeter both snorted; it was obvious it was his. _Beyond_ obvious.

“I know. Can I…?” He asked, hand out-stretched.

“You can,” Seph said, her voice wavering. Demeter bit back a snort watching her brother’s face, still severe, as he pressed a curious hand to her belly, slowly rubbing little circles in the fabric of her dress as if the dress would reach out and devour his arm.

“Do you want…?” Seph bit her lips and Demeter glared into her brother, because he damn well was at the moment of truth and if he blew it so help Zeus she would _hurt_ that man. She wasn’t kidding about gardening him like a particularly caustic onion if she had to. Maybe cut off a few _shoots_ , too – wasn’t like they wouldn’t grow back. Eventually.

“I want, beautiful.” Hades leaned into Seph with a soft sigh, glancing up at her. “I want.”

And her daughter’s eyes closed and that — well, it wasn’t quite the flowery language her little girl deserved, but it was enough for her. Her daughter smiled, and Demeter relaxed. She knew she should leave’em then, let them have their time, but it was a charmin’ tableau even if Hades was in it, and she couldn’t think of the last time all three of ‘em had been gathered together with anything less than bitterness between them, so she savored the moment. 

And though she’d never, ever tell him this, maybe her heart did melt for the old bastard just a _tiny_ bit when her brother’s lips pressed a kiss into Seph’s belly, fondness surprisingly evident in his stern old face. “Hello there, little shoot.”

“Shoots,” her daughter said, barely audible. That had been the part Demeter was happiest about, truth be told: she had always regretted not giving Seph a sister or two. She’d had Arion, but Arion was, well, a horse, and it was hard to cross that divide when it came to children’s’ games. At least her grandchildren would never know the loneliness of being the only child in the family.

Besides, Hera _never_ had triplets in her line, not even in all her grandbabies, so now Demeter had something to brag about up on the mountain.

“…Shoots?” He looked up abruptly with his jaw hanging a bit open and Demeter actually did have to hide her own mouth to stop from laughing because his look was, well – _dumb-founded_. Seph reached out and shut his jaw with an audible click, looking aside to her mother with a look that expressed her amusement at her husband’s idiocy.  “So…how many branches are we addin’ to the family tree?” He asked, and Demeter had to laugh, because she could see her baby brother runnin’ actuary tables in his head already as far as what his kids were gonna cost him.

“Three.” He looked at her belly again, the look starting to skirt closer to terror but not quite getting there, morphing somewhere along the way into a mix of complicated emotions, and settling on what looked like a torturous happiness — or as happy as Hades got, which was a small genuine smile with his eyes closed.

“Well…good. Our little bramble, briar and thorn won’t be lonely.”  He chuckled deep into her belly. “Ain’t like they got a lot of little cousins to play with.”

“Yes, you two well and truly did wait long enough,” Demeter huffed. “Don’t even know what’s left for them to be Gods _of_.”

“We’ll find somethin’.” Her brother stood, though it took him a moment, his knees cracking; he was so old, Demeter thought ruefully. They all were. Standing and looking a tiny bit more distinguished now, he held out his hand. “Do you… should you…stay? Til…” Demeter could see how much it pained him to offer her that, after six months of waitin’. He couldn’t stay up-top, not that long. Death wasn’t really allowed much of a _holiday_ , which had been the one thing that she enjoyed about her daughter’s marriage, early on: he never could follow her everywhere, and she suspected he might have tried had he been dealt a smaller lot.

“No. I missed ya.” Her daughter got up, or at least tried; she faltered, forced already into that odd waddle that Demeter would be sorry to miss the final culmination of.  Seph was already much bigger than she should be, but Demeter blamed Hades for that.  He helped her stand — a bit late again, but faster than last time, he was learnin’ — and offered his arm. Seph leaned into it and Demeter felt an odd pang of something – not quite gratitude, not quite sadness. Zeus had never done such for her, and a few thousand years ago — great grandmother Gaia, six _months_ ago— she wouldn’t have thought Hades would do this for her baby girl, either.

When she’d seen him then—red-rimmed eyes, mouth trembling as he held out Seph's bags in an awkward peace gesture—she hadn’t, really, imagined she ever would ever see him again. And she'd maybe been a bit happier about that she should have been. She _maybe_ regretted that a bit. Truth was, she felt a lot happier about what they had now, instead. It _was_ better. Even if he was still in the picture.

“Besides…” Seph started and looked at her momma with an unreadable look for a moment, and Hades and Demeter both looked at her, and she could see in Hades’ face the mirror of her own: curiosity and worry crashing together.

“The children should be…born at home,” Seph murmured, in that quiet way her daughter had of saying important things in an almost flippant way.  Demeter flinched; she didn’t consider the underworld Seph’s home as much as an eternal, if temporary, _inconvenience_. Hades took her daughter’s declaration better: his arms closed around her and she saw his hand tremble as he embraced her, smoothin’ down her hair.   

“I’d like that,” he said softly. “Like that a lot.”

And she knew, of course, that was why Seph had said it. Tryin’ worked both ways, and makin’ their babies underworld natives meant they’d be a lot more like their daddy than their momma. Her daughter curled her hands over his shoulders and they stood together for a long moment. And Demeter thought, maybe, well, maybe she was wrong they didn’t fit together. Because while they looked fucking ridiculous — her daughter as gorgeous a sunshine child as always, Hades as dour a shadow as had ever been made — they looked _happy_. And maybe Demeter could let her go, just a bit; Seph knew her momma always had her back, anyway.

Demeter moved back to them, gently tapped them both on the shoulder. “You’re runnin’ late. Better get goin’.”

“I’ll be back when — when its time,” Hades said, a little quiver in his voice and she bit back a _you had damn better_ and instead smiled, nodded.

“I’ll be here,” she said, tapping Persephone’s shoulder; her daughter turned toward her, and she pressed her lips to their girl’s forehead with the last bit of summer-time in her kiss. “Now get goin’.”

Demeter should have turned and walked back to her home, squeezed some apples into cider and started countin' down the days, but instead she watched them board and watched the train as it went the whole way down the track, not turning to walk back home til the train was no longer visible, til its whistle had long since stopped echoing.

The first fall leaves in a damned long time crunched under her feet the whole way back, and Demeter smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mythology notes: 
> 
> The name Hades calls Persephone's momma Demeter when he first sees her, Demeter Carpophoros, was one of her surnames that was used in cult in Tegea and Paros and meaning, roughly "fruit bearer." Hades might be showing respect, and might be not-so-subtly suggesting she produce the fruit he wants (eg Persephone). 
> 
> Arion is Persephone's half-brother, Demeter's son via Poseidon according to Pseudo-Apollodorus and Pausanias. And yes, he is a horse. 
> 
> The triplets are a reference to the Orphic hymns, which attribute the Erinyes/Furies as three daughters of Hades and Persephone: "[Erinyes] from Zeus Khthonios (Chthonius) [Haides] born, and Persephone, whom lovely locks adorn."
> 
> Next week's story will be goin' back, _way back_.


	3. Something in the Heart Beat like a Drum [2. Kiss on the Forehead]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Staring at the edge of one of Demeter’s many gardens, he’d laughed, an ugly little huff, at the absurdity of it. Thousands upon thousands of years of nothingness, and then one glimpse of a young woman in a garden, and he’d been seized with nothing so much as the desire to reach out, to stroke her hair and press a kiss or twenty upon her brow. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set at the very beginning, or as close as it gets: a man, a girl, and a garden. 
> 
> Rating: T  
> Warning(s): mention of Uncle/Niece incest, most of this deals with an older man dealing for having an attraction to a woman a _lot_ younger than him

He was not prone to displays of affection, as a rule.

It was something that had become codified in his iron rules as a child; when you can’t move without hitting another sibling for the first several centuries of one's life, you tended to not want to touch other people once you were freed from your childhood prison. He’d made it a long-standing practice not to touch or be touched, but _she_ , somehow, made him want to touch her. It surprised him, struck him dumb even, how overwhelming his desire to rub his fingers through her tresses invaded his heart. 

Staring at the edge of one of Demeter’s many gardens, he’d laughed, an ugly little huff, at the absurdity of it. Thousands upon thousands of years of muteness, and then one glimpse of a young woman in a garden, and he’d been seized with nothing so much as the desire to reach out, to stroke her hair and press a kiss or twenty upon her brow. He tried not to look directly at her; he had not come up here for companionship, only to waive down Zeus’ mercurial messenger who skipped out on the underworld more often than not.

But she was in his eyes, whether she was in front of him or not; when he turned away, he felt like he heard her fingertips brush against flowers — impossible, since she was a good hundred yards away, and not even a god heard _that_ well. He swore he heard a womanly laugh on the wind, thought it hers, and wanted it to be a song he heard over and over again.  The young goddess _burned_ in his mind and he felt furious; there was no reason for it, no reason at all.  It wasn’t as if he knew her. 

The only sizable interaction he’d had with her had been when her father had come to the underworld and presented her to the fates. Couldn’t forget meeting her; she was the first, for one, though Zeus was down often enough to tuck into the Fates’ cave with the newest of his bastards and the odd rightful heir (though Hera could not match Zeus in her fecundity). His brother was always making sure his newest child could not overthrow him. That was one of many places where Hades disagreed with his brother; prophecy meant little and fate was fate regardless of the foreknowledge. Had he known he was to be the king of the Titans, would he have put on Zeus’ airs through the war? Probably. And look what it would have gotten him, regardless of all those destined royal trappings: a kingdom made of dirt and stone, his duty that of a glorified jailer with nothing in his hands but death.

Better not to know one's fate.

He only remembered his brother coming with _that one_ because Zeus had bothered him after, demanded a meeting with him and stood before his throne with this soft, snuffling child in his arms and asked, with one of Zeus’ typical large grins, whether Hades wanted to know her prophecy. He had not. Zeus had insisted he at least hold her anyway and, after several minutes of protesting that went nowhere, Zeus had all but dropped the little thing in his arms, wet and sobbing, and beamed. Hades remembered it; the child was terrified. He was no less so; he'd never held so small a thing, so full of life and so terrifyingly helpless. He’d stared down at the little baby and had felt nothing but anger at his brother; it was not as if he had his own children to hold and the little bastard-born daughter simply reminded him he was alone and would most likely be, given the rate that Zeus was going through immortal women, _eternally_ alone.

He could only now hope Persephone didn’t have perfect recall of that moment, for his iron-headed fury was enough that even Zeus had taken his daughter back with surprise written on his smug face. His resentment had been the only reason he remembered the meeting at all; that, and that Zeus had never demanded an audience with him again after hearing the fates of his sprogs, which suited Hades _just fine_. He had no desire to be close to Zeus beyond what was politically expedient. The man would _never_ see his children, if he ever had them. _Especially_ his daughters.

He thought, for one brief moment, what a daughter between him and Demeter’s daughter might look like: her hair, and her features too, he thought, if the fates were merciful. Perhaps his eyes, though he would not mind the mother’s... _Stop_. He shook his head. This was _ridiculous_. He was a ruler of a third of the cosmos, he did not waste time making up hypothetical children like a love-stricken princess!

He tried to calm himself as he watched her simple joy in creation; she was laughing and even outright whooping as she brought bright vines to unfurl. He did not feel anger. He felt…longing, and it _hurt_. Hurt like nothing ever had before, and he _hated_ it. When had he ever had a reaction like this to her before?

He tried to remember. He’d seen her since her birth, surely? The few brief glimpses of the curly haired moppet he’d seen after that in brief flashes of her childhood — Demeter, always the smartest sister, kept her off Olympus more than on it — had no spark like this. She was no more interesting to him than the many other children of his siblings. Divine, as they were all divine, but — ah, nothing special. He couldn’t even be sure it was her interrupting a dull council meeting to sneak a pomegranate off the table, or kissing his cheek on a dare as her cohort of bratty brothers and sisters cackled at making a joke of him. It could have been her; could have been Athena, too, or perhaps even little Artemis. He hadn’t taken much note at the time as to which was which; until they had a place at the table, they were useless to him, just reminders of something he didn't have and likely wouldn't.

But he was certainly paying attention to her now. Was it like this, for Zeus, for Poseidon? This…desire? Is that what this was? For the first time, he felt a bit of sympathy for them, if it came on this strong.  He leaned against a tree and watched her from the shade. There was no harm in watching, surely? She did not seem uncomfortable with him looking so. Hadn’t even noticed.  

Little Persephone was, he was quite sure, something beyond a mere goddess; there was no other explanation for why he found her so beguiling.  Though she was, he had to admit, no longer so little; her body had grown long and lithe, with long legs and soft breasts and curving hips that he was doing his damnedest to ignore.

That he was not, in truth, doing so well at ignoring.

What was so special about her? He tried to think, in part to distract himself as he watched her flit from field to field, bringing blossoms and springtime as she touched each stem. She had been the first whelp born of his sisters’ and brothers’ progeny; like him, she’d been born to a throne that was denied to her by his siblings’ political maneuvering.  Perhaps that was it; in her, he simply saw a kindred spirit. But then, he had never felt such a kinship with any other. His siblings had had no end of jokes at his expense about that, had they? _Poor Hades; born dead, nothing but stones in his chest._

His siblings certainly had felt the love in their hearts for one another, he noted sourly. Persephone’s existence alone was proof of that. Perhaps his siblings had not quite acquired his aversion to touch; perhaps it was that they saw the immediate and admittedly practical need to try to outbreed the monsters Hades kept locked deep underground for them. Whatever the cause, Persephone had been the first of the new generation; a child born with his sister’s soft brown eyes and his brother’s golden skin, yet she had an alluring presence all her own. She had a youthful joy to her; life cascaded through her limbs – which should have been anathema to him, as it had always been when Demeter had dared to take his hand, and yet _._

_And yet._

He could not take his eyes off her, watching with bewitching longing he had never felt even once in his ancient veins burning. She was _poisonous_. Belladonna, nightshade, hemlock – all of them in this garden, all of them blossoming in her terrible yet beautiful touch.

Would she make him blossom, too? He was no less a poisonous thing. He shuddered. _Ridiculous_.

He watched with a scowl on his face as the little goddess unleashed another torrent of flowers.  How old was she now? If not quite an adult charged with her own duties, surely close, if she was assisting her mother alone…Not that he was counting how old she was. It would be… _inappropriate_ , to count her age and wonder at what point it would become acceptable to court…She was _Deme's_ daughter, his brother’s daughter! He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. Regardless of their miserable sniping at one another, they were his siblings, and to take her was to invite trouble he so rarely bothered with. He would…observe the girl, waiting for the messenger, and nothing else.  Anything else was…inappropriate.

He had certainly not picked this _particular_ field to wait in hopes of _seeing_ her, after all. That he happened to be standing in one of Demeter’s fields, waiting for the messenger, well, surely that was a coincidence, wasn’t it? He’d just noticed the messenger came to this field frequently. That was all. 

He was grateful that she had not yet noticed him, and yet, simultaneously, miserable, for the very same reason. He swallowed, shook his head.  Foolish, and he knew it too — but he did not stop staring.  He was not, entirely, alarmed the messenger was late. He did not, entirely, want Hermes to come anytime soon, too enraptured with this beautiful creature.

He stared at the girl, wondering: Did she know? If she knew of the poisonous touch she had made upon his heart, would she give him an indication of repulsion? It would be easier, he thought; shiver upon touching his hand as Demeter did, and perhaps the poison would run its course and he could strangle the love-sickness, kill it and rise above it and not care for the girl who—who was coming near him, a pale white blossom in her hands. Oh, _shit_. He should have vanished into the underworld, and for any other god or goddess he would have done so but – for her, he stood still.

“Uncle,” she said, softly, but not shyly; there was nothing timid about her, no, not like him at all in that matter. So, she knew who he was. And she was, notably, not afraid; no shudder to her. She was bold, an arching bolt; her hand was outstretched and putting the little white flower behind his ear before he had entirely measured her presence. She was not like the shadows of his kingdom, not like the human souls he held dominion over; she existed, she breathed, she generated heat that he had not felt since… _since_. Her entire presence was…overwhelming. Bewitching, intoxicating. _Dangerous_.

“A gift,” she said, smiling a little, humming as she ran her toes into the dirt, the lightest touch on the ceiling of his kingdom and he willed himself not to grab the little thing, not to frighten her. No, he could not touch her; he had a power in him that made even her mother quake and he did not wish to scare her away. He stood ramrod straight and the little flower shook her head. She reached out a hand. He did not move away.  Her fingers toyed with his; little digits tapping on his arm. It was the first time someone had touched him in — How long?  _How long?_

“Thank you,” he said, and the words tumbled awkwardly, for as a king, he so rarely thanked anyone. He never mastered sweet speech. She did not seem to mind though, her fingers tapping a steady beat against his wrist, _tap tap tap_ ; like his heartbeat, the music too loud in a long-stilled instrument like him.

“You are here for me?” She asked, and unlike any other goddess, she smiled at the thought. Smiled at the thought that—that he would be here for _her_. His eyes narrowed, teeth slickened by the poison that foamed at his mouth; he debated sinking his fangs in deep. She was so lovely a little thing, too lovely to be buried underground; and yet there was something in her eyes, a glint of lighting that made him quite sure she liked things _dangerous_ and what was more dangerous than death itself?

But…she was young. Too young for him.  He refrained putting her in the dirt, though it took all his control to do it, and swallowed the poison in his mouth.

“Not at present,” he said; he pulled his outer cloak aside, let her see the pile of scrolls he’d held for Zeus’ little messenger, who had dallied about so long in going back to the underworld that Hades, who spoke with virtually no one but Zeus himself and only that when absolutely necessary, had built up a backlog of strongly-worded letters.

The girl did not stop touching his hand; her fingers flitted into his and he thought, for one hot second, that they almost fit.  Almost; not quite. She hummed, a soft _la la la_ that made his knees all but weak. 

“No, not yet,” she agreed; tilting her head in the funny way that seemed to be uniquely hers. How odd, this beautiful creature, so prone to movement and even odder, how he felt so attracted to her when all his realm was still, still, still. “When I go with you, winter is supposed to follow after us.”

“I do not know of _winter_ ,” he said, wondering what or who that was: a portent of the future perhaps? He thought of the child he'd imagined and wondered, perhaps, if it was more than desperate daydreaming. Some gods had foresight; he did not, but his father had, the fates had. It was not impossible she would be among them – she was as much of time’s blood as he was, half of her sharing that ancient but inexorable rhythm. He swallowed, wondering if the poor child had told him her own prophecy; was she fated to go with him, truly? It seemed too cruel a thing, to sentence her to his gloom. Deserved better. She would be better not knowing, he thought, and him, too. But then, it wasn't as if the Fates didn't have a sense of humor; his own fortune was bitter proof of that. It may simply mean that one day she would walk behind him, and another would follow along. So much of that nonsense had never come true, not in anything but dream-sense; hadn’t Demeter’s been that she would birth an heir that could inherit two thrones? Yet Zeus had married the sister who'd born him a son, putting Persephone neatly out of the running for that throne, and Poseidon had not adopted the girl-child, either. She was quite alone. Like...him. And It was not as if it said she would stay with him forever, as a friend or as...anything more. He swallowed.

 _Tap tap tap_ , her hand on his, marked the hour; he did not remove it.

She smiled as she leaned forward and back, swaying in the wind and soil, anchored only by his fingers. He liked that, liked the thought that as she came and she went, _he_ was her anchor point. “Me neither. Not yet, at least.  But uncle, tell me: did you know you’re supposed to give someone a gift back when they have given you one?”

“Ah,” he said, looking down; he did not know what would please her. She loved flowers certainly but had no need for them, not when she could produce them all her own and far better-looking blooms than his at that; his more natural gifts—iron and bronze and jewels—were nothing she seemed to hold interest in. “I am afraid I have brought nothing for you, little one. I do not make a habit of carrying toys,” he said, knowing that she was too old for them.

She folded her arms and pouted, and he mourned the absence of the little music she had beaten out upon his body with her soft hands. _Tap tap tap_ , his heart sang, growing deeper roots; poisonous roots, blistering through his core. He felt warm. He was alarmed he did not mind it.

“I do not play with toys,” she said, firmly, sounding young despite so obviously trying to play the lady. “I like _adult_ gifts. Something older.”

“Then what old gift would you have from me?” He asked; his voice shook just a slight bit, but she did not seem to mind. He could pull older things, too, long dead; perhaps she longed for a fossil. He would like it if she did; it would prove a good omen, perhaps, for where her tastes would grow. She licked her little lips softly, and a fire flamed through him, and he thought: inappropriate, inappropriate.

But fates, how he _wanted_ her.

“A kiss,” she said plainly, placing her hand at his hip. He laughed, but she did not, and the laughter died away. He stilled, back deathly straight. He stared deep into her eyes, and she did not look away. She was not joking.

“You are a bit young for that,” he muttered; still, he found his hands on her shoulders. Neither of them commented on how his hands trembled.

“I said I prefer _adult_ gifts,” she said, bold and daring. Her hand climbed from his side to his back, tugging them closer, close enough he could hear the blood pumping through her veins and knew she wanted his mouth filled with venomous desire.

But he did not sink his fangs upon her; a light blur caught his eyes, quicksilver wings fluttering in the distance. Hermes. He could stall for time, he knew; he could simply ride it out, wait and hesitate long enough that Hermes would arrive and he could make his excuses and go.

But he did not.

Instead, he bent down quickly and closed his eyes, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead while wishing that things were just a bit different; her older, or him younger. He heard her chuckle, the noise a bit less than innocent in its meaning, smelled the soft scent of wildflowers and thunderstorms as he inhaled her scent deep. “Next time,” she muttered as he broke contact, her words a scalding whisper that burned him. “Next time…I shall be more specific, and I shall expect it upon my mouth, uncle.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, did not have the strength to do so much as nod. She did not dare to look away, her hands still clamped upon his back.

“What are you doing here?” Hermes asked; flittering between them at last. The boy’s brown eyes were wide, looking between them; _inappropriate_ , her touch too close. She realized it; Persephone withdrew from his side, turning to look at Hermes with a polite smile.

“There you are.” Hades squeezed her little hand in parting, well aware of the road he was treading; well aware, too, that it was lined with fire. “Looking for you, boy. You’ve become so slovenly as of late that  I’ve built up a backlog! Honestly, Hermes. Making me come _here._ ”

Hermes rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Your brothers like to talk, your grace.” He held out his arms, and Hades dropped his scrolls into the boy’s hands perfunctorily. Hermes looked closer at him, and frowned. “Is that a flower on your—“

He was not going to entertain this line of inquiry.

“Don’t dally this time,” he snapped, waging a finger in the boy’s face. He could feel the girl watching him, and felt uncomfortable, warm and strange in ways that were new and exciting as they were ill and strange. “I do not wish to make a habit of having to seek you. No stories, no tarrying.”

“Ugh, okay, okay!” Hermes muttered something about him being a slave driver under his breath; Hades ignored the insult. They all had their duties.

“I take my leave of you both now,” he said, snapping his fingers. He did not want to leave the girl in truth, but he knew how it would look if he stayed, knew it would get back to mother nature, knew tongues would wag and knew that he’d never see her again if that happened. And he knew, too, that if he stayed, perhaps his famous control would weaken further, for the girl was tearing down his walls with a speed that made him shiver, made him quake. He did not entirely trust himself around her. Without Hermes’ intrusion, would he have kissed her on the mouth?

He wasn't sure. He wanted to. It was an inappropriate thought. Forbidden.   _Alluring._

“Until it's time for winter, uncle,” the girl murmured; Hermes tilted toward her, eyes confused; he caught the opening of his question as to what winter was as he plunged deep into the earth, but not her answer, and that was just as well. He did not want to know.

As he went down into his long-held abode, a new song took route in his brain, quietly infusing him until felt his heels click to it as he walked down the hall.

_La,la,la,la,la…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mythology Notes:
> 
> \- Zeus visiting the fates to receive his children's fates is a reference to his and Hades dad, Cronus, who consulted with his parents and found out one of his sons was fated to take over for him and kinda sorta...did not take it well, at all, and by that I mean he went home and decided he was going to swallow ALL his kids (Greek Mythology is weird). In myths that mention that Zeus did this (mostly with Metis), they say he went back to his grandparents, Uranus and Ge/Gaia. In this version I had Zeus ask for the fates, both because of their ever-presence in Hadestown as well as needing someone who, traditionally, does live in the underworld for this role.
> 
> \- Hades being "King of the Titans" comes true in the sense that he rules over them in the Underworld; they're assigned to the underworld equivalent of hell (Tartarus) and Hades is basically in charge of making sure that they never escape it. Many ancient artworks depicting Hades show him with a key, highlighting his role as, essentially, a jailer as well as the keeper of the dead. But certainly, that would _not_ be what Cronus and other titans would have interpreted his "destiny" of being the future King of the Titans to be, pre-Titanomachy (the war between the Olympians and the Titans, the end result of which was the division of the realms). His destiny here is admittedly a made-up figment of my imagination, beyond the prophecy with Cronus mentioned in the note above. 
> 
> \- Hermes being mercurial is a nod to his Roman name, Mercury. I've headcanoned him here as younger than Persephone despite how they look, since the musical doesn't say and most Greek mythology source seem to suggest this is so (namely Hesoid and Suidas); the Orphic hymns also offer that _Persephone_ asked Hermes to be the guide who helps others to reach their final destinations (and curiously I cannot find a source that shows that Hades asked him or any other myth showing how he acquired that role at all beyond this!) and since she couldn't do that until she became Queen of the Underworld, it would follow that she is older, if perhaps not by a great deal.


	4. Stay [4.Awkward Kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She looked at Hades, her heart torn up; how could he be fragile, this man, this man who had withstood titans and monsters and even her very own mother? Persephone grabbed his hand and ignored the heavy gashes that marred his arm and the way he flinched when she caressed his knuckles._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set several years before the events of Hadestown. Hades gets hurt, and Persephone gives him an idea she might come to regret giving. 
> 
> References events in [Ch. 3: Something in the Heart Beat like a Drum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44326276) but can be read as a stand-alone. 
> 
> Rating: T  
> Warning(s): very brief mention of drugs being used medicinally (morphine), minor descriptions of injuries and violence

“I'm back,” she said, tossing her suitcase down on their bedroom floor. It landed with a bang, and she didn’t bother to apologize for it. Hades didn’t say anything, and she sighed, staring into the dim room.

She was home early; August, after an accident in one of his gods-forsaken factories. She had no doubt ma upstairs was already struggling to keep the harvest going on account of Persephone’s early departure, but there was no getting around it. Persephone was just going to have to take the blame for the bad harvest this year; she hadn’t even told ma she was going before she’d flown down here as fast as Hermes could take her. At first, she had thought she might be goin’ back in a day or two, but she packed everything before they’d left, just in case. 

Now, she knew it had been a wise decision: having put her eyes on her husband, she wouldn’t be leaving him any time soon.

Hades, heavily bandaged, didn’t move from his place on their bed. She swallowed, uncomfortable. She could see he was breathing; his chest was moving in and out and it gave her some comfort, but not enough. He ain’t dead, she thought, repeating the thought over and over again in her head like a mantra: _ain’t dead, ain’t dead, ain’t dead_. She scooted up on the bed, grabbed his cheek, and gasped quietly at the deep gash that crossed his chin. He looked – weary. Tired. _Old._

It scared her. She hadn’t thought to come when Hermes had told her what had happened; _there’s been an accident_ had a different meaning when the man involved was immortal, and she’d laughed it off as a silly story before Hermes told her all the ugly details of what he'd seen. She'd thought, too, at first, that Hades might have done it on purpose; given himself a little knick or cut to try to lure her home early to care for him. He liked to be babied like that sometimes, though he’d _never_ admit it. 

But he wouldn’t have done _this_. A small cut, maybe two, sure; not these ugly, big gashes that covered him from his chin all the way down to what she could see of his chest, half-covered as it was with a blanket. Once she'd seen how serious  _Hermes_ looked, she knew: she had to go. And she had been right to go, because he was in a bad state. She swallowed as she drank in the sight of him, caressing his cheek. He didn’t move, but he was awake. In the dim light of their room, his dark eyes followed her. He was…expressionless. His eyes were glassy in a way that suggested someone — Hermes? — had stuffed some of the last dregs of yesteryear’s morphine in his mouth, and that was just as frightening, to think Hades could be in enough pain that someone else would realize they had to find a way to numb it.

Generally, his pain was something only she was good at seeing.

“What happened? What were you _thinking_?” She asked. Hermes hadn’t been there until after the fact, which made it worse because without the old gossip, she had a very incomplete idea of what had happened. Hermes had told her he’d come in to deliver a letter from pa and found Hades buried, with a group of workers gathered ‘round him nervously talking.

Had the workers rioted against him? She had only heard little bits of their excuses stompin’ up here: an accident on the factory floor. They were retooling the line; something Hades had supervised a million times. Workers moved the heavy molds to switch production from one product to another; during the switch-over, the old molds had _somehow_ gotten unanchored and had fallen.

Fallen right down on the boss, in fact.

Hades had taken the brunt of it, they said, and she thought that wasn’t the entire truth. She’d seen the stain of his heavy ichor pooling on the factory floor on her way through. There was no other blood but his, bright and golden colored. No one else was hurt. Not at all. Not a single damn shade in a factory floor with a hundred shades, easy. And that bothered her; not that she  _wanted_ anyone else hurt, mind, but it was odd. Well. She would be doin' her own sleuthing once she was sure the boss was okay. She would investigate; would break, would _punish_ , if it turned out to be more than an accident.  The workers thought she was nicer than him.

They were wrong.

She looked at him, so weak and so silent and she felt so, so scared. Gods were deathless by virtue of their ichor, but he'd damn near been drained out and he could have fucking _died_. “Gods, Hades. What _were_ you thinking?” Her voice quivered. Why hadn't he deflected the molds? Why had he gotten so hurt? She couldn't help but wonder what might have happened had Hermes not been there and she suppressed a shiver. Too close today, too close.

He stared at her now, silent and moon-eyed in the dark. He hadn’t answered her yet; hadn’t moved since she came in. She looked at him, her heart torn up; how could he be fragile, this man, this man who had withstood titans and monsters and even her very own mother? Persephone felt sick, felt sick from her head down to her very core. She grabbed his hand; ignored the heavy gashes that marred his arm, ignored the way he flinched when she caressed his knuckles.

“Hades?”  She whispered. She wanted to hear him, wanted to hear his big booming voice complain about the work, yell about her bein’ gone, cut her to the bone just so she knew he was still _himself_. She wanted to shake him, wanted to kiss him; didn’t dare to move him again at all.

“I wasn’t.”  His voice was so soft and so unlike her man, her big strong man, that for a moment she feared he had become a shade in the time between her leavin’ up top and comin’ home. It took her a moment to realize what he meant: _wasn’t thinking_. She pressed a kiss into those big strong knuckles, tried to ignore the way his fingers shook in her hands.

“You’re really here…?” He slurred, his words weak and garbled.

“Oh, Hades…” She pulled down the blanket to see him better; someone — almost certainly Hermes — had cut his shirt away from him to bandage him, and the bandages were thick and still, she could see ichor soaking through. He’d been badly weakened, and her heart plunged into an ice bath colder than any insult he could throw at her. She chucked off her shoes, the boots falling one-two, _bam bam_ , on their old stone floor; her dress followed hastily, and she heard him cough in response, but didn’t bother to explain. Instead, she slid herself down next to him under the covers. She needed to feel skin-to-skin, needed to feel him breathing, needed to know his big heart was beatin’ because she felt it in her own body next to him. “This feel real to you?”

His big hand shook and hesitantly found its way to her hair. He seemed transfixed looking at her, like he was a man starin’ into a mirage. Maybe he thought he was. "But it’s summer _._ ”

“Yes, but don’t you worry about that.” Sure as shit wouldn’t be for long without her up top; ma would try but without her, it would be good as winter soon enough. Persephone moved her head, snuggling herself into his big shoulder — mostly unharmed on this side — and angling his arm until it bent around her.  He was still breathing, still _hers_. Not too late. Gods, what if she had not come and had left him like this, hurting and alone? He seemed surprised she had come early, despite the fact he had nearly _died_.  Had he not been expecting her to come home when he needed her? It was strange, this Hades; he didn’t react anything like the man she knew as well as her own skin. He was expressionless, glassy. Dull.

Nothing like the sharp knife she had fallen in love with.  

“This hurt?” She asked, touchin’ his arm. It had only occurred to her now that perhaps it was best not to move him. If so, she'd been making a right mess of it. 

“Yes.” He chuckled weakly, and when she moved to set him back the way he was, he struggled to shake his head and she stopped. “Gonna hurt...Stay?” 

“I _will_.” She grabbed his cheek and curled all tight against him, tight as she could without hittin' any of his injuries. Her hand tapped his uninjured – or at least less injured – hand, like she’d done way back in the old world. In those days, she’d wanted to hold his hand more than anything. She missed how uncomplicated they were then. She’d always felt like they’d had eternity to fix things; now that concept trembled into a tumultuous unknown and she trembled with it. “Not goin’ anywhere, Hades.”

They were both quiet for a long moment. His eyes closed; despite knowing she should let him sleep, she kissed his lips; once, twice. It was an awkward kiss; her face bent at a weird angle to avoid hitting any of his wounds, and her arms forced to support her weight instead of trusting him to hold her instead. He gripped her a little tighter on instinct, still trying to hold her, though it was nothing like the strength he normally held in his hands. He didn’t quite smile, but there was a fleck of amusement in his dark eyes when they opened that suggested he’d like another kiss, and so she gave him one, and then another after that, and one more after that, because only now did she realize how finite the amount of kisses she had to give him may be. He was obviously too weak and far too exhausted to do more than that; strenuous physical activity at all was probably beyond him for a while. 

“You should rest,” she said hesitantly; he was tired, she could tell, and it would take him days to heal up from this. Maybe weeks. Longer if he didn’t rest properly, and she knew he didn’t rest much at all at this time of year. She was not going to leave their marriage bed until he fell asleep, and maybe not even then. She stared deep into his salt and pepper hair and wondered when he’d started to go grey, and why she hadn’t been alarmed then. He was gettin’ older on her, and she’d barely noticed, and the idea that even he might one day _die_ now reached out and punched her in the face like the fates croonin’ a chorus. She loved him, loved him so much that the thought of existing without him felt like no existence at all. Maybe they had their problems, but she’d take the hell of Hadestown and its mad king over any utopia without him. Stars above, what if she had lost him? She had to find out what happened. If someone  _had_ tried to kill him…she’d annihilate’em. If any worker _dared_ to think they could take on a god, she’d burn them to ash, and she’d leave no soul behind. No, that was too merciful, she thought; she’d take them to Tartarus, let them live eternally in that dank pit, dodging her grandfather and all his companions. Let them see what happened when one tried to take on a _god._ “You just rest, Hades, you don’t worry. I’ll handle everything out on the floor. Promise. You rest.”

She wasn't sure if she was talkin' more to reassure him, or herself.

 “Can’t.” He said it quiet, but his eyes were more alert; her dope must be wearing off now. His hand came up and with some difficulty, he lightly touched her face. His fingers shook as they loosely traced the path of her lips, and she bit back the desire to sob. He was so damn _shaky_ , so damn _weak_ ; it broke her heart.

“Why…?” She held his hand over her cheek; he smelt of iron more than he usually did, the ichor staining his skin and leaving an unfamiliar tang to him. Bitter. Acrid. The bandages were mighty soaked and would need to be changed soon, but she didn't think he'd have the strength for it just yet. No, she'd make sure he got some rest first, then she’d give him a bath no matter how much he’d probably howl he didn’t need her help. And she would help, she'd scrub every little scar and divot if she had to because she sure as _shit_ wasn't losing him. He was so…delicate, like this, and it was a scary thing, for she’d never thought of him as delicate at all.

He hesitated, visibly; flinched and then shook his head. Was still himself then, if he could still wall himself off emotionally to anything even remotely uncomfortable. It was oddly comforting. 

“Hades, please,” she said softly. “Let me in.” She pressed a hand to his chest, felt his heart flutter under her fingertips. Nervous. Why?

“If I close my eyes…” He whispered. “Might wake up.”  There was some endless loneliness in his voice that all but broke her. He’d told her years ago that when she was gone, he’d dream about her so often that he only slept when he absolutely had to if she wasn’t around. It was nothing new; he’d avoided sleeping before her because his father haunted him, but to know she had replaced that bogeyman…to know he’d take the dream where he got to see her only to be confronted with a reality where he thought he wouldn’t…it _hurt_. He had never wanted a part-time wife, had just put up with it and it was all her fault that she was keeping him perennially unhappy every summer. Guilt burnt her cheeks, boiled hot in her gut. She never had a choice but to leave, but still, she had left him, this year and every year. And now she was here early, and he thought she was a damn mirage.

Because he didn't think, in all his rules and regulations, that she would come. Because it wasn't his time, but so what? He needed her and it wasn't as if she'd come early every year, but she damn well would come early _this_ year. Great grandfather and all the stars above, this was the man she had married; did he not realize how much she loved him? She was his  _wife._ She had to take care of him! 

“You are _such_ a moron,” she murmured, then kissed him once more to tell him he was, in fact, exactly her kind of moron. “I am home for the _season_. You daydream my suitcases by the door?”  She kicked him lightly on the balls of his feet, careful to avoid any point that might have hurt him. “Dream about me kickin’ ya?” She giggled, because she felt he needed a bit of levity, and touched his hand. “Dream about me yellin’ at ya like this?”

“…Sometimes,” he said, quiet; serious. She didn’t know what to say to that, and just folded herself tight around him, like she could make up for not bein’ there when he got hurt by smothering him now. She wondered how long they were gonna be able to go on like this, him wantin’ her like mad and her always dancing just a bit out of his sight, after a while. She always came back, but only now did she wonder if that was crueler than staying away.

“I’m here,” she cooed. “Stay as long as I can. Seven months this year.” She couldn’t promise him more, though she wished she could. She wished she could stay forever, or he could go with her up top for the whole season, but neither was really possible. The only thing she could do to give him peace was to let him go entirely, and she wasn’t willing to do that. Loved him too much. Too _damned_ much. Besides, at this point, they’d been together so long she was pretty sure he really would just fade away without her at his side, and she'd do just the same. 

“You’re really staying…?” He asked, his voice so strained with hope that she was scared, really, of what might have happened had she not come, had she left him here all alone.  Was the rope of their love so frayed he didn’t think she would come runnin' when he tugged? She wondered how he was gonna take spring this year, if it would be harder than usual for him to watch her walk out that door. Maybe she could lure him into coming with her; spend some time up top. She smiled at the thought of that; even if he and ma got into a spat and argued the whole damn time, it would still be nice to see him hale and whole, with sunlight splashed across his cheeks.

“I’m your wife,” she said; and that was the truth of it in the end. “I’m staying here, Hades.” But she wasn’t always, and they both knew it. He gazed at her through half-lidded but still sharp eyes. She expected him to bring her spring-time journey up, expected him to throw it in her face that she’d abandon him, just like every other year. But he didn't; he smiled. 

“Then it‘s a good dream,” he said with a low chuckle, half-slurred with exhaustion. She wasn’t sure if he really thought she was a dream, or if he was just kidding; either way, it broke her, and she folded herself up in him, trying to fix them both. Whatever she could give to him, she would.  If she didn’t leave this bed for seven months, so be it. They were gods. They had time.

“Well, good,” she said, smoothing his hair. She kissed him one more time on the forehead and saw a ghost of a smile cross his handsome mug. “Cuz you’re livin’ in this one for the next seven months, lover.” She stroked his hair softly, trying to think of something she could do to soothe him into sleeping. A thought came to mind, and she grinned. He'd always liked her voice.  

“I’m gonna tell you a story, okay? You relax. You fall asleep, that's no big deal. Snore on my shoulder, drool even, if you wanna. Did you have a bedtime story you liked as a kid? Something easy to drift in and out in.” She wondered; ma had always told her stories, and she figured ma had to get them from _somewhere_ ; presumably, her grandmother had told ma and Hades little stories before — well, _before_ — that had gotten passed down. It was hard to imagine Hades as a kid at all, but ma had told her he had been once, though she never told many stories about growin’ up together and Hades never spoke of it at all.  She supposed, given the conditions of their childhood, maybe that wasn’t that surprising.

He looked at her oddly, eyes unfocused. “No. It…no. I don’t like thinking about that time."

“Well, then I’ll just tell you one of my own.” She kissed his forehead again and settled against him. She didn’t want to take a chance of accidentally telling him one of his own ma's stories, and besides, she knew without a moment’s deliberation what long ago story Hades would prefer above all others.

“Long time ago, there was a man, starin’ at a girl in a garden,” she said, carefully looking at him. His eyes met hers and she didn’t look away. “He was lookin’ at her _real obvious_ , though he didn’t think he was bein’ so. He was lookin’ because he was lonely. So very lonely. Sometimes by choice, because he was a cantankerous bastard, even then – “

“Sounds familiar,” he said, speech more slurred now but with a hint of amusement in his voice; his eyes slid half-closed. 

“…But mostly because he wanted someone to love, and he didn’t think he was loveable, because he had a job that was very important but, not, shall we say, very _fun_ to most people. He was very serious, and, woe for him, he was born into a _not_ very serious family. His family caused him all kinds of – “

“Headaches,” he muttered.

“Yes. So many! Still do, sometimes. Fortunately, our next character wasn’t most people and wasn't very silly at all. You know who she was?” She soothed his brow, noting the soft smile on his face.

“Beautiful young girl,” he murmured. “Way too young for the old man.”

“Yes, she was young. Not _that_ young, though. Already grown, mostly. Just a bit younger than him.”

“ _Thousands_ of years younger—”

“Who is telling this story?” She said, cutting him off; what was a few thousand years to their kind? They'd spent longer together than he'd lived without her at this point. He shut his trap and she basked in the win. “Anyway, as I was sayin', there was a young girl, and she had been lost for a while. She was a springtime girl, but somethin’ deep down in her never felt quite right about that, ‘til she saw that man. And however old that man was at that point, she _loved_ him. From the moment she saw him standing in her mom’s garden, watching and waiting, she felt this stirring in her chest and she thought _oh._ And that was it, you know, for the girl; she saw how serious he was and how sad he was and she wanted him more than air and sun and soil. And being bold, cuz she was always bold—“

“Daddy’s girl,” he muttered and she shot him a _look_ he didn’t see, his eyes closed. Daddy didn’t have much of a part in her life story. Daddy certainly didn’t have anything to do with her personality, she’d formed that all by her damn self.

“She went right up to him, flower in her hand. Put it right behind his ear and he said _thanks_ like the word tasted funny to him, and he said he wasn’t there for her, but she wanted him to be. And I felt – I mean she felt—“

“Secret’s out,” he chuckled, his huff of laughter dry but amused.

“Shh.” She shook her head, smiling. “She asked him for a kiss, because _he needed a hint_ , as she would come to discover he was _always_ a bit thick about romance and he – you’re not gonna believe this – _kissed her on the forehead_. Like she was a kid!”

“He wanted _more,_ ” he whispered. “Even then. Old pervert.”

“Aye, but he _insisted_ on being a gentleman then. Much to her chagrin!” She shoved him lightly on one of the few spots on his chest that wasn’t deeply cut. “But you know, the story didn’t end there. He kept coming around, _mysteriously_ whenever her mama wasn’t there, talking to her, spending time with her…On very rare occasions, maybe even brushing against her hair or touching her hand. Which drove her _crazy_ , by the way. And he was still a cantankerous bastard, but oh, she loved those conversations with him very much. Still does, some legends say.”

He said nothing in response but his mouth fell into his goofy little half-smile she was pretty sure his own mother wouldn’t believe he was capable of making. Relaxed now; his eyes were more shut than open. “He kept tellin’ her about this place under the ground he worked —the big place, the _very_ important place. Told her she’d hate it because there weren’t many plants and no sun and how dark and sad it all was but all she thought was _it sounds nice. Quiet_. Mama’s house was a lot of things for her and she liked it quite a lot, but it was never quiet and sometimes a girl does prefer quiet. One day, the girl gathered up her courage and asked to go to the big important place, and the man said _you're gonna hate it._ And she said  _we’ll see_. Cause she was always a stubborn cuss, too. Which generally was a drawback for her kind, but he found it charming. So he said: _Fine. Let’s get it over with._ He was grumpy and scared because he thought if she saw the big place, he’d lose her. And he wasn’t sure he could do that anymore, because despite being a cankerous bastard, he, well, he _loved_ her, too. And they went together, deep down under the ground together. And she wasn’t scared, even though it was new to her because—because he was there at her side, the whole time. “

She waited for him to respond, but he didn’t. His chest was moving slowly now, and she realized he was either asleep, or very close to it. She finished the story anyway. “It turned out all his fears were for naught: she loved his realm and she loved him, and when she got down there, she finally realized why she felt so lost. Cuz it turned out, she needed that place, and she'd never known she was missing it. It was always gonna be this place for her, and this man for her; and when she told him she’d finally figured that out… She never saw him so happy. He kissed her then, for the first time. And that’s when she knew that home wasn’t where ya lived, it was where ya _loved_. Now, the story got more complicated after that—stories always do—but that’s still how she feels about him. Even when she leaves; she always comes back to him, because _he_ is her home. And she loves him. Even if he is, to this _very day_ , a cantankerous bastard at times. Fortunately, she finds that charming. Mostly.”

He snored lightly; gone under, now. She didn’t dare to move much, afraid of waking him, but she stroked his hand gently, afraid to lose contact with him. “And that’s not really the ending, Hades,” she whispered, feeling ridiculous, but well…she had almost lost him.

“Mm…?” he murmured; not awake, not really. Odds were good he wouldn’t remember this in the morning, but she felt compelled to whisper the real ending in his ear anyway. What could it hurt, to let him know?

“You and me being separate six months outta every twelve? It’s not forever, Hades. One of these days, you know, I’m gonna come down here and I ain’t gonna go back up. It’s going to be you and me and all of eternity down here. When the tides rise, and the earth warms, and everything above breathes its last breath…I’m gonna come home and I’m gonna _stay_. We’ll be here, together forever. Always. Truth be told? I kinda look forward to that. Eternity with you, I mean. I hope you know that. That’s the ending, Hades: I come and I go, but you and me? We’re _always_.”

“Hmm,” he said, curlin’ a little closer. His hand shot out — more out of habit more than anything else, she thought — and grabbed her around her waist, tuggin’ her awkwardly to his chest. “Stay,” he muttered. “Stay with me.”

She closed her eyes, breathed his bitter scent deep, and nodded. Yes, she’d stay.

For the next seven months, anyway.


	5. Songbird [5.Angry kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’d told the little Songbird the truth as to why he wanted her here: he wanted her to sing, and he wanted his wife to hear it._
> 
> _The problem was: the canary was dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The canary comes to the coal mine, but the miner doesn't find it as useful as he'd hoped. 
> 
> Set during Hadestown. Starts immediately after _Why Do We Build the Wall?_ and goes a bit past _Lady of the Underground_. 
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Warning(s): Woo, boy. This one isn't the happiest one. Sexual references, deliberations of infidelity, deliberations about sexual harassment in the workplace (Hades, _no_ ), mentions of alcohol abuse and drinking to cope, canonical(ish) character death, brief mention of Hades being Persephone's uncle, brief mention of past miscarriage(s)

Hades had never been so furious in his life as he was when he took the songbird into his office. It was not the girl’s fault; she sat down primly in his visitor’s chair, lips bitten together, legs splayed open. He stayed at the doors a long moment, debating how to play this.

He had not…expected things to wind up this way.

Not the girl coming — no, he’d counted on that. Wanted that. Wanted his wife to see he had _options_ , he could find as many mortals as he wanted if she wanted to keep bein’ _difficult_ just because she couldn’t appreciate what he _gave_.  Zeus had a literal cornucopia of quims, Poseidon not far behind. Hades wasn’t the most seductive of Gods, maybe, but he was a _God_ , a _King_ among Gods at that, and the little thing was a desperate _child_. It was like giving a bird a bit of birdseed: she’d follow, and sing for him so much as he wanted if he kept the provisions coming.  He’d told the little Songbird the truth as to why he wanted her here: he wanted her to sing, and he wanted his wife to hear it.

The problem was: the canary _was dead_. Oh, not literally, not yet; but she’d executed her purpose and now nothing had gone to plan. He’d wanted her to sing her song in front of Persephone, and she had, whistlin’ his tune, and then his wife had just…done nothing. Nothing he did made her notice his clever plans, either. He’d grabbed her arm — she stared at him mutely. He mockingly loosened his tie staring straight at her, and she hadn’t bothered to turn around. He glared at her on the veranda, _their veranda_ , and she’d just looked back at him with a weary look. Like she’d been expectin’ this, and that was worse. He’d gone and killed the canary, and all he’d learned was that their relationship was toxic. Well, tell him something he didn’t know. He’d taken a painfully long time shutting his doors just to give her more time to run up ‘em and tell him he was being a big idiot, and...She hadn’t. She’d let him go.

In more ways than one.

And in that moment, standing with his back to the door, Hades, king of the Underworld, fought hard to stop himself from crying. The opposite of love was not hate; it was apathy. Persephone had frozen him out with ice even her overbearing mother could not hope to conjure. The songbird waited patiently, nervously; he didn’t care about her. He took a deep breath, brushed up against the child’s shoulder as he reached his own seat. She shivered only a little. Brave, he thought.

“Right,” he said. She said nothing; didn’t look happy. He wasn’t bothered; most people weren’t happy to see him. He dodged having to say anything to her by looking through his desk drawers for papers that he knew were absolutely in the bottom right drawer. He only had two paths open to him now: commit to the mockery, take his time, hope his wife was posturing as much as he was, and see how things went once he revealed he hadn’t crossed that barrier…or go for the full-blown betrayal, and _make_ his wife realize how unreasonable she was being by denying him her time. Rutting another woman into a space he’d never shared with anyone beyond her would show her _that_. She could learn, the hard way, how he could make a woman that wasn’t her _appreciative_. He was not, he knew, a bad lover. She’d taught him how to please a woman, once.

He pulled up his file full of contracts, looked through the paperwork. Pretended to be busy trying to decide just which contract to present her with, though all of them were the same.

The girl was pretty enough, and he was hungry enough; it would not be hard, he thought, to take advantage.  She was a tiny thing, and that would present difficulties, perhaps — Persephone had always had trouble taking him without preparation, and she was a bit larger, a bit fuller in her hips than this wisp of a ghost. Then again, he did not, at this awful and precise moment, particularly care about hurting the Songbird. If her quim was too small, her mouth could accommodate him. His brothers had proven to him many times over that mortal women were well capable of cross-species compatibility in all sorts of fashions. He stared at her, mulled his options over.

The girl kept her head low; already humming along to the symphony of Hadestown, though he knew she wouldn’t realize it. “Is there – are there still jobs available?”

“Always jobs in the mines for one so lovely and young,” he said, sweet-talking on reflex. He smiled. She didn’t return it. He tossed the contract over to her, stood. Looked out the window. Persephone wasn’t in the courtyard, which meant she’d gone boozing herself up again. Didn’t give a single shit at all, did she? Just gone and gotten high, like she always fucking did, and didn’t care at _all_ he was gonna profane her just like Zeus and Poseidon had profaned their wives.  

He heard the shifting papers; the songbird was reading, carefully, every page. Practical-minded child. She wouldn’t resist if he put her out, would she? She’d just take it as part of the job _opportunity_ , wouldn’t mind at all if he pulled out his cock, if he asked her to put her hands on him, her mouth. He tried to imagine it, imagine the little one’s hands cuppin’ him and her mouth moving over his head, tongue swirlin’ just a bit wickedly — he closed his eyes, trying to conjure the mental image, but the only face he could see was Persephone’s. It was a damnably powerful image too, her brown eyes all delight as her hand molded him like clay, her mouth straining to hold him, hold _all_ of him; so much effort in so lovely a face. He tried to change her face out of spite, to make it the girl’s, but _no_ — even if he changed the features, the eyes that shone out, in liquid pools of brown grace, were always Persephone’s. 

He sighed. Dammit. He couldn’t even get half-hard thinking of _her_ right now. He needed to relax or abandon this plan altogether. “It’s a standard contract,” he said, and the songbird said nothing, and he didn’t know why he said it after a moment, because it wasn’t like the girl would know what was standard and what wasn’t. Didn’t matter anyway; the contracts were just there because he liked having records of those he held in his domain. There would be no challenging one, regardless of how valid the claim. In Hadestown, he was judge, jury, and executioner.

“I just – I like to read everything.” The songbird’s cheeks blushed a lovely pink, as if she knew how degenerate his thoughts were. “Please.”

“Very well.” He shrugged. He stared out at the courtyard, willing Persephone to show up. Show up with a knife, hell, show up with father’s sickle; he’d welcome the challenge in her. His courtyard remained deserted and he suspected it would until the night shift filtered in from their bunks down below. He wondered how many of the night crew were at Persephone’s speakeasy right now, getting liquid courage for their next shift; wondered jealously if maybe she’d be trying to pull the same thing on him now with one of his children. She was …comely. _Very_ comely. And it was inevitable that someone would be stupid enough to _try_ to get with her just to thumb their nose at the boss. And now, well… He frowned. This strategy had more holes than he wanted to admit.

“Is uh – there’s nothing in here about lodging…?” The little thing squeaked. He sighed, annoyed.

“Lodging is included, as are all meals. We’re a family here. All is provided for. You’ll never be in need again.” Easy promise, given that she’d be dead soon enough. He crossed the five steps in his small office to lightly test his resolve, put his hand on her shoulder and let it stay there. Closed his eyes, tried to pretend her little bony shoulder was all he’d ever wanted. “Would you like a glass of wine?” He asked, glancing toward his cabinet. Always was alcohol of some kind in there, thanks to Persephone. He’d just started stocking a bar out of habit.

“…Do you offer that to all the people who come to work for you?” She asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. Wide eyes that were dull, glassy from hunger. Nothing like _her_ eyes. She bit her lip, afraid. Ignorant whelp! Didn’t she know what he _was_? Who was she to be afraid of _him_? She should be _flattered_ for his attention.  Who was this mortal _child_ to imply he was anything less than desirable?

“Just the promising ones,” he muttered. He poured himself a glass, furious. Maybe he wouldn’t be nice to the little songbird at _all._ Maybe he’d take her ass, that’d take some work but he _could_ demand it as a tribute for the work. He could make her scream loud enough that his wife would hear the little songbird’s warnings vibratin’ in her glass of gin. Make the girl walk funny enough Persephone would see the proof of his pain and _know_ he wasn’t a nice man, deep down inside.  Make her afraid, too — after all, everyone else upstairs was afraid of him, why not her, now, at the end of their relationship? He wanted to scream. He didn’t want this to be the end, didn’t want this at all.

And he sure as hell didn’t think Persephone wanted him to do this, so: why wasn’t she here?  He resisted the urge to storm out, staring at the little one from across the table as he sipped at his wine and tried to undress her with her eyes. She was his type; a strong hellcat, despite the hunger that panged her frame. He tried to imagine rutting the girl on his desk, but the second he closed his eyes, it was Persephone on the desk, her legs dangled over his shoulders as she looked up at him, begging him for _more of him_ , _more, more_ , and her mouth open in a fearless smile…He shuddered. Gods damn it all, that woman had ruined him.

“O-okay,” the songbird said, startling him. He grabbed one for her, handed it to her. He drank the rest of his quickly, wishing the alcohol gave him the calm nerves he needed. The shift change was comin’; he had to make up his mind. And the girl had to sign the contract. One way or the other.

He let one hand drift to his pants, subtly trying to figure out if he was ever going to be able to pull himself together for this. The alcohol did nothing to calm the queasiness in him, and the songbird looked more terrified than beguiled in the brightness of the dingy cathode rays above them. The room was dark and cold and he stared out into the streetlights and sighed.

How did Zeus do this? Or Poseidon? How could they not see their wives every time they closed their eyes, begging for them? Zeus clearly used his affairs to keep Hera around — and while she wasn’t happy, she _was_ always chasing him — and Poseidon and Amphitrite had been married even longer than him and Persephone, and _still_ by all accounts were …together, despite Poseidon putting himself into anything willing that got within fifty yards of him. Amphitrite he could not speak to, but Hera…Hera had never let Zeus go off to on his affairs without a fight.

Persephone had just stared at him, sadness in her eyes.

Did she think this was what he wanted? Bah! Women! Damn the whole lot. He should never have gone into that garden all those years ago, should have never dared to pluck her flower and presume he could hold it forever. What did he know of love? Nothing then, less now. He looked at the songbird as she drank her liquor – quickly. No hesitance, no savoring. Getting it over with. Even this one, this little mortal _bird_ , to her, that was all he was worth — an obligation. Business transaction. His wife didn’t even want him for that.

The songbird reached for a pen on his desk and signed the papers, and he sighed. Well. Moment of truth. He squeezed himself less subtly but he _still_ couldn’t summon a damn bit of his blood to his cock as he stared intently at her, debating. She was obviously uncomfortable under his gaze and her eyes wandered over his desk. She picked up a picture he hadn’t realized had gotten hidden by a pile of paperwork. Realizing what it was, he winced.

“Oh,” the songbird said. “Is this your wife?” She brushed a bit of dust off the frame; the ambrotype portrait was a bit old, and he caught the fear in the mortal woman’s eyes as she realized how little they’d aged since the picture was taken. He took it from her hands a bit roughly, staring down at the image of his wife in a pretty crinoline dress. It had faded to a sort of olive color in the drab ambrotype, but he remembered the dress being a vibrant green. She was smiling up at him in the rare portrait, those big brown eyes lighting up his world; her hand was on his arm and Persephone looked, for all the world, like the happiest little woman he’d ever seen. Was a good year, that year.

He frowned, stroking it. “Yes.”

“She’s very beautiful.” The songbird sounded sad for him, and that was even worse. He didn’t need pity from a damn _mortal_. He glared at her, not bothering to hide the disdain on his face.

“Sorry. I mean, I guess…it’s complicated, isn’t it? I have a fiancé…had now, I guess.” She bit her lips. “He didn’t know I left.”

“I see,” he said, not really caring. He felt miserable and sick, and the booze hadn’t helped at all. Every act he tried to imagine the girl in, he saw only Persephone, and knew he wouldn’t be able to do what he _should_ do to punish her. Knew, truthfully, that he didn’t really want to, which was even worse. Not only was he a poor husband, but he wasn’t even a shadow of his brothers. Couldn’t even fuck a mortal _girl_.

“If…if he ever comes down here, is it possible we could be assigned together?” The songbird asked; he was still staring down at Persephone’s portrait and he wondered, with a heavy exhale, if she knew he was sparing her, or if it would even matter. Would she be touched that he’d not carried through with his threats? Or just think him less a man, broken like every damn thing about them was broken?

“Please?” She asked, her voice an almost broken thing.

“Sure,” he said, shrugging. It didn’t seem that unreasonable a request to grant. He tended to keep lovers or families together anyway; breaking up family units was just _asking_ for trouble, and keeping them together reminded people that they would have something to _lose_ should any rebellion form. It wasn’t like he didn’t have his sympathies for them, anyway. He heard the shift whistle blow, and looked at her.

“Ready for your first shift?” He asked. She blushed, clearly thinking it was an innuendo, and he couldn’t blame her.

“I – I guess.” She stood on shaky legs, but he shook his head.

“Stay in the chair. Close your eyes.” She did, though the shaking amplified, her eyes scrunched tight as her entire body trembled. Not so brave now, but trying.“Now, you won’t feel a thing…”

He touched her face with both hands and heard her gasp as he let his venom bite through the little bird. It was a simple death, painless. Clean. He pulled her shade from her as effortlessly as a child pulled a dog’s tail. Just a brief snap and — release.  

It was done.

He withdrew his hands and her head slammed forward onto his desk. Her shade stood above her and in a rare act of mercy, he obscured her body from her. The songbird was rapidly proving not worth the headache he’d caused.

“I’m free!” The little songbird said, her shade-voice no less melodic than her mortal one. There was relief in her damn voice, and he was pretty sure it was from being spared from more than one type of hunger. “Free, Mr. Hades!”

“So you are. Nothin’ gonna wake you up from this dream, songbird.” True in more ways than one. He pointed toward his door. “Run on down, now. Foreman will tell you where he needs ya, and you’ll find your place there.”

“Okay!” The little thing smiled at him — _smiled_ — and bounded out the door, and then she was gone.

He stared disdainfully at the girl’s body — useless, wet mound of flesh. He’d have to get rid of it, at some point. Debated taking what was left of her to the furnace right away, but — he smiled. No. Let Persephone see it when she came in. Hell, maybe she’d take it as a sacrifice he’d made for her.

Maybe.

He debated going over to her little club, the one he wasn’t supposed to know about. He could grab her there, take her home and if anyone _dared_ to think they could have her, well, he could prove there were worse things than death for them. Of course, there was a chance he could get there and she’d be gone, and then he’d…he’d…do what, exactly? This was her space as much as it was his. He’d humbly _demanded_ that at their marriage, instead of keeping her in a golden cage. Because he was a fool.

He scowled. After a moment’s hesitation, he made the totally rational decision to go to bed, force a confrontation there. She’d come back for a change of clothes, even if she was pissed enough he imagined she’d want to sleep in one of their thirteen thousand other rooms, probably one of the _many_  nurseries he’d built for all the children they’d wanted to have, children who had never quite come.  All their children had died early in the womb. They’d tried a long time, and it had come to nothing, and given her role as a fertility goddess, it was obviously his fault.  He couldn’t even give her a child that would last long enough to have a soul to cling to; he’d tried, he’d _tried_ , and — nothing. No soul, no shade. No child.

Another way, as a husband, he was broken. 

He snarled in his office, was tempted to throw something. Didn’t. He did have his own children after all, an entire paper stack of them, they just weren’t _hers_. Or gods. Or …alive. But still, his! He grabbed the wine bottle, figuring that it, too, may help lure her to his bed. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed the ambrotype portrait and took it with him. He shut the doors to his office, went back through the back path through to their personal apartments, which hadn’t changed much in the centuries since they’d married.

He sat on his long bed, miserable. Didn’t bother to take off anything more than his jacket. Couldn’t fuck the girl, was definitively going to get fucked by his wife — and not in the manner that they both liked. He scowled. He wanted — wanted to find her. Wanted to _rut_ her, wanted to press his love into her until she realized how much she was all he’d ever wanted. He realized, dimly, that he hadn’t taken the wine glass from his office. Decided he didn’t care, and drank straight from the bottle.

He stared at the picture, this old picture. He hadn’t wanted to stop to get it when she’d insisted, in — what year was it? He didn’t even remember. Before Sherman had torched Demeter’s brand-new little house, he remembered that; she’d just moved over from the old country. My, hadn’t she been pissed. He chuckled. Served her right.  But other than Demeter being snippy that he’d come up — a rare summer visit, but war was good for that then, and the warm south that Demeter loved so had _no_ shortage of it at the time— things had been magical that summer. He’d danced with her all night after this picture was taken; once Demeter had stomped herself off to sleep, they’d made love outside in soil so vividly red that he could still see it now; the way his fingers sunk into the mire with hers, the red-brown stains she’d left on his clothing (not, of course, that anyone on the battlefield noticed or cared).

How long ago had it been? Surely no more than seventy years. An eye-blink in their lifetimes and yet: it was all different now. No denying it. Every year he’d needed her more and more and when he took to seein’ her, half-desperate and fully mad, she ran further away. Always resented him comin’ to see her, even though he knew damn well the woman loved him as much he loved her.

Or, at least, she used to.

His chest felt ancient and heavy in ways it never had before and he shuddered. Drank another long draught of bitter wine he hated. Fuck.

 _Where’d we go wrong, lover_? He wondered. They’d had their spats in the past — no one stayed married over fifteen thousand years without a good blow up or two — but they’d reconciled every time, and quickly, all things told. She’d never gone lookin’ for another man, and he knew she had _opportunities_ , far beyond what he did. He’d never encountered such coldness from her, such…apathy, as he had today.

Persephone was a lot of things: cruel at times, vicious, poisonous, but she was always a hot-blooded thing. _He_ was the cold one, the dead and rotting skeleton lying dormant beneath her feet half the year long. She stormed, she raged, she bent; he held fast, he grew embittered, he resented. It had always been that way.

But today, she had just _let him go._

Tears fell down his eyes and he hissed angrily. Gods above and gods below and gods every-fucking-where else!  This woman! Why was it so hard? He _loved_ her. Loved her more than breath, more than air, more than life, more than _death_. Loved her beyond his own fucking existence. Loved her to the point he couldn’t fuck another woman when he damn well _should_ , because she’d made it more than clear she wasn’t interested in his old bones anymore. _Lover, I don’t know you anymore_ , he muttered to himself in a cold impersonation of her voice, then drank again.

He was not sure how long he laid there; the tears came, and dried, and came again. The wine bottle got steadily emptier, and he felt himself become more and more maudlin. He had a lot of good memories to _reminisce_ about, and a fair amount of bad ones, too. He ran through most of them, but found no answers. He growled into the bottle. She still wasn’t home.

It was getting late. Persephone wasn’t the creature of habit he was, but she damn well better get her ass home. Maybe she _had_ found a worker — or several, just to _make him regret it more_ — and introduced them to her _gifts_. Which were _bountiful_. He growled, mad jealousy in his heart. He started to get up when he heard an abrupt slam of the door of his office. His voice caught in his keening throat and he froze, his plans of storming her speak-easy all but forgotten.

“Whaaaat dee FUCK!” Persephone shouted, pissed off her ass — he knew from her voice. He relaxed a bit, sat back down on the bed. Found the songbird then, he took it. He heard a soft thump – Persephone must have moved her head up, made sure she was good and dead.

“Whoa.” She laughed then, an awkward and obnoxiously drunken sound that made his heart beat six times faster. “Oh, girl. I’m – I’m sorry. Not right, ‘im usin’ you like this just to get to me. I’m sorry. You – you come on down to mama’s bar later, if you can hear this. I’ll give you a special, baby. Make you forget all this ever happened. Least I can do.” He heard her uneven gait and debated what he should do; somehow, he hadn’t quite come up with what he wanted to say for this confrontation, though he’d had plenty of time to think of it.

Too easy with Persephone to get lost in thoughts of the past.

The door rattled. He glared at it, furious, and refused to answer. She opened it anyway.  She saluted him unevenly as she barged through the door, with two middle fingers solidly raised in his direction.

“Cute,” He said, bitterness on autopilot, then winced, because that wasn’t the right track to take.

“Fuck you,” she slurred; she took off her shoes, leaning against his doorway, since she was so plastered she damn well couldn’t stand up and do it. “Fuuuuuuuck _you_.”

“If – “ She shook her head, cutting off his words and jamming them back down his throat.

“Don’t wanna – don’t wanna hear it. Hurts too much. _You_ hurt too damn much.”

“Lover — “He tried to stand, and she growled deep in her chest in a way that made even him quail. He sat back down, thoroughly miserable.

“I said _don’t_.” She laughed again, the sound loud and braying and _ugly_. On uneven feet, she stomped over to him. He didn’t make a sound.

She stood over him where he sat, still on their bed, and _sniffed_ him, sniffed deeply; smellin’ him for any scent of the girl, perhaps? Let her; he was innocent. Mostly. To his relief, he smelled no worker orgy upon her, just the booze. He stared back and watched her laugh again, an unsteady thing, tottering on her feet but no less terrifyingly powerful for it. “You think – you think it doesn’t hurt if you didn’t bring her into our bed?” She hissed. She didn’t wait for him to reply before growling and jabbing at her chest. “ _You think **this** don’t hurt at all?!_ Do you think I’m gonna swoon like _oh Uncle Hades you sure showed me you’re hot stuff_ and demand you lay me down in that big old bed? That what you think that little girl sacrifice is gonna get ya?”

Her words punctured his chest nearly as hard as her expression, which was as miserable as he’d ever seen her. She stared down at him, stumblin’ down til they were on eye level and he could smell every bottle she’d put past her lips and see just how unimpressed she was. “You—You  ‘sposed to be the mature one in this relationship, _uncle_.” She hadn’t called him her uncle in centuries, ever since they’d been married, and he didn’t much care for it now. _Husband_ , he thought, _call me your husband_.  

“I — “ His mouth gawped like a fish. His first instinct was to tell her a million things: that he regretted it, that he was _sorry_ , that he wanted nothing more than to love her, but all the words died in his throat. He wasn’t quite ready to tell her he was sorry, not just yet; he still hated that she wouldn’t recognize everything he’d done for her, all of this was for her, didn’t she get it?! He wanted nothing more than _her_. A mixture of anger and guilt choked at his heart, and whatever he wanted to say, it died in him. Died rotten in his mouth, like dried rose petals, obnoxious and cloying.

Persephone looked at him, and he could tell his wife, who knew him better than anyone and everyone, was _not_ impressed.

“Fuck!” Persephone was crying, honest tears that hurt him, each one sliding off her cheeks. He pressed his hands to her chin and stared, grimly, into her face. His finger brushed her mouth in a profane hint of familiarity that hurt so much that his ancient heart cracked open.

Something passed between them, an understated current that rippled with the motion of the fates themselves. He looked at her, and she looked back, and before he could think more about it, let more doubts weigh down his thoughts, he pressed forward and kissed her in one quick and painful swipe before he was fully aware of it.

The horrible thing was, she leaned into it; hungrily, she _did_. It was an angry thing, both of them miserable, but he felt her lean into it, felt her hunger meet his own. He poured everything he had into that kiss: all the love, all the resentment, all the memories they had made and all the sadness at all the memories they hadn’t made. He felt them all returned, and then felt Persephone pull away; heard her sob, raggedly, into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her for a few, precious seconds, and felt the gesture returned in the strong arms that curled around his head. He nuzzled her cheek, wanted more of her, dove to find it —

And then he felt her draw away.

He saw her eyes, and saw nothing but anger. She raised her fingers and slapped him across the face — not hard, but gentle. Like one would do to a child, a dull slap. Didn’t even have the grace to hurt him after all they’d gone through. She held her hand there, disappointment and anger in her eyes.

“ _Fuck. You!_ ” she spit at him, and shoved him down on the bed, and then she was storming off – grabbed a dress from a high shelf (black), grabbed his bottle of wine. Dropped it when she saw it was empty, and let it splinter into a thousand shards of glass on the floor. She grabbed the picture, and his heart sped up. Looked at it half a second and then back at him, eyes flinty hard. “Tch.” She threw it back towards him, and he dove for it, not wanting it to fracture. He caught it in his hands, and she shook her head at him. Thinking him an old fool, no doubt.

She stomped down the hall. He heard the nursery door next to their room open, slam shut. Heard an ancient lock click shut and closed his eyes. _Fuck_. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

“FUCK!” he screamed, knowing she could hear it and not caring a single fucking bit. Let her hear. She wasn’t the only one with cause to be unhappy. And unlike him, _she_ hadn’t conceded a damn inch tonight.

He heard her crying and cried his own tears, let them fall freely, curled up in his blankets, that smelled far too much like her to grant him a moment of sleep.   _Where did we go wrong, lover?_ He thought, tears burning his face. He stayed in the bed, watching the minutes go by, and never in his life wanted anything more than to have her arms curl around him. The pang of that bitter longing made him nearly throw up. He tossed the covers down, not wanting her scent; it wafted around him anyway. He howled, and wondered if she could hear it.

And wondered if she cared at all.

There was silence in the other room, total silence, and he felt sick, sick, sick. He closed his eyes, tried to imagine the day in that garden, tried to figure out how they’d gotten here. Somehow, along the way, he drifted off, the ambrotype clutched between his fingers.

When he woke up, the covers were back up around his back, and her shoes and the wine bottle were gone. She’d left no note, but he knew she had done it. The songbird’s body was gone — she’d dealt with that too, surprisingly— and sitting back at a position of honor on his desk was the portrait of him and her, curled up in one another’s arms like nothin’ could touch them.  

Hades stared at it, miserable and hung over, all morning, but the picture had no answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mythology/History Notes:
> 
> \- father's sickle: Hades' father literally uh, castrated his grandfather, so Persephone wielding such a weapon would have a similar purpose in mind. (Greek mythology is _weird_ , yo.)
> 
> \- Amphitrite, Poseidon, Zeus,and Hera - Poseidon, Hera, and Zeus are Hades' siblings, and Zeus and Hera are the King and Queen of Olympus (heaven). Amphitrite and Poseidon are king and queen of the sea. Neither of the husbands are exactly faithful.
> 
> \- Ambrotype: a type of photography that was popular in the 1850s and 1860s; the name is taken from ancient Greek, funnily enough: ἀμβροτός — “immortal”, and τύπος — “impression". These pictures tend to be very sepia-toned/yellowish, though some are tinted.
> 
> \- Sherman: A general during the civil war who was famous for [burning up the south](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sherman%27s_March_to_the_Sea) during the Civil War - including, among other casualties, Demeter's first American home. 
> 
> \- Persephone's special: the waters of Lethe, which would help a shade forget their mortal lives (and death). 
> 
> Next week: A fic set a few days after this about a slightly happier, if still awkward, occasion.


	6. Walk with You in the Wind [6. "I'm Sorry" Kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She walked past mama, stared down from the top of the stairs into the living room below. She could just make out the tips of his snakeboots jiggling nervously on mama’s carpet. “You let him inside…?”_
> 
> _Ma shrugged. “He was looking mighty pitiable. Thought you’d want to talk. But you tell me you want him to go, I’ll tell him he has got to go. Don’t feel you need to talk to him.”_
> 
> _“Nah, we’ll talk. But if you hear a hurricane, just stay in the kitchen, mama.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which baggage is brought up, in every sense, and two lost souls try to move on together. 
> 
> Set a few hours after the end of Hadestown and thus a few days after [Ch.5: Songbird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44752930); six months before [Ch 2: Bramble, Briar, and Thorn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44107945). Can be read on its own. :) 
> 
> Rating: E
> 
> Warning(s): Sexual content/situations, some discussion of assumed pregnancy and infidelity, _very_ minor references to era-typical racism

She’d only gotten back up to livin’ up top – not livin’ it up, that was different and she weren’t in the mood – for a few precious hours when ma rapped her knuckles against Persephone’s door. She gave her ma a withering look and clutched Hades’ flower to her chest. She was old and she was tired and she just wanted to be left alone for a lil bit.

“Don’t look at me like that,” ma said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve got yourself a visitor.”

“Tell Hermes I'll see him later.” She knew he probably wanted to talk, about Hades and the kids and the way things were gonna be, but she didn’t wanna, not yet. She needed time to herself, wanted to think about Hades, about their flower, about six months.  Didn’t want to hear about the kids, didn’t want to listen to Hermes gossip about the fam up top. Too much to distract over there. She owed Hades a good and proper think about how she wanted things to be, because if they were gonna _try_ she needed to figure out how to do it.

“Ain’t him,” ma said, and there was an edge to her voice that made Persephone pay attention. She sat up. Ma looked irritated, like she never did unless it was Hades, pa or one of her half-siblings.

“It ain’t the twins is it? ‘Thena?” Those were the most likely visitors besides Hermes, and easiest to deal with.

Ma rolled her eyes. “Those three wouldn’t have bothered to even knock, just stomped up here. No manners, them kids. Like they were raised in a barn.”

Persephone raised an eyebrow. Between all of pa’s divine kiddos, she was the one who’d spent the most time in the barn. Didn’t seem worth pointing that out, though. “Fates above, it ain’t Hera is it?” A second fear gripped her and she snarled. “Pa?!”

Would just be her luck if Pa decided to put his heavy thumb on the scale once she and Hades had finally managed to balance their own weights.

“Small mercies, no.” Ma sighed and leaned into the doorway. Ma looked tired. “Don’t make me say _his_ name and ruin a perfectly good thousand-year streak in this house.”

“No,” she said, cold fear in her heart. She’d discounted Hades; knew it wouldn’t be him, because he’d vowed. He’d _vowed_. Wasn’t it his flower she was holdin’? His love sittin’ right here, clutched between in her fingertips? She narrowed her eyes. “He ain’t.”

“He is,” ma said, rolling her eyes. “Trust me, it’s been a while but I know my brother’s face still.”

“I _just_  got here.” She stood up, brushed down her dress. “I’ll kill him. I'll _kill_ him.” Coming in this early? He wasn’t even tryin’, for all his pretty words. She dropped his flower on her pillow and slipped her boots back on. She was going to stomp hard on that miserable old heart. Two could play at this game. He wanted to drag her down the first damn day of spring? He’d have to take her kickin’ and screamin’.

To her surprise, ma grabbed her arm and Persephone stopped dead in her tracks. “What happened?” Ma asked, quiet. “He’s been cryin’. Eyes are all red.”

“So?” She spit, though she stopped to glare. “What do you care? _You_ hate him.”

“But _you_ love him.” Ma stared at her with her best _ma-knows-best_ glare which was somehow still plenty fierce even if Persephone was wholly grown. “Daughter, I have known that man all his life and seen him cry all of twice in all that time; once when you first came home after that first winter, and now. Now I know things ain’t been great between ya, so tell me how you want me to play this game: You breakin’ up or makin’ up?”

She caught ma lookin’ at the flower on her pillow. Ma always knew what flowers meant and raised her eyebrows. No question who that was from.

“I don’t know, truth told,” Persephone said, biting her lip. “He say he was bringing me back home with him?”

“Nah. Didn’t say much at all, ‘cept that he brought your bags.” She raised her eyebrows and Persephone sighed. She’d been so preoccupied with Orpheus and the girl and _Hades_ that she hadn’t even worried about packin’ before Hades had sent her on her way. “He don’t look happy though.”

“He never does.”

“That’s not true.” She stared at ma’s face. Hades must _really_ have been a sad sight if _her_ ma was defendin’ Hades to her. Ma cringed and shrugged. “Okay. Mostly true. You want me to get rid of him? Tell him ya sleepin’ or you’re gone out?”

She walked past ma, stared down from the top of the stairs into the living room below. She could just make out the tips of his snakeboots jiggling nervously on ma’s carpet. “You let him _inside_ …?”

Ma shrugged.  “He _was_ looking _mighty_ pitiable. Thought you’d want to _talk_. But you tell me you want him to go, I’ll tell him he has _got_ to go. Don’t feel you need to talk to him.” She leaned in and whispered.  “You ain't owe him _shit_.”

“Nah, we’ll talk. You hear a hurricane, just stay in the kitchen, ma.” She tapped ma’s arm and walked down the steps slowly; she felt odd tendrils of dread twist in her belly, a tightness in her that hadn't been there before. She hadn’t thought that they’d be seeing one another so soon, and things had been so bad for so long she could no longer fathom what to say to him. She wanted things to be better, and he'd said the same and she did think him genuine on that, but she’d been mean so long she didn’t know how _not_ to be, anymore. She caught sight of him on mama's couch: eyes down, otherwise lookin' almost the same as when she'd left. 

He stood as if he felt her eyes on him, like he had when she’d met him in their garden with a flower crown in her hand, so long ago, and her stomach twisted with a long-dormant fondness.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello.” She debated how best to physically approach him – he stayed standin’ in an awkward puddle of black, looking like a cartoonish shadow next to ma’s plants on the coffee table. He stared at her a moment too long, face unreadable, then shifted, held out his hands full of her bags. A peace offering of her own silky panties, she supposed.

“Your bags. Forgot. I-I forgot. When I let you go.” When was the last time she’d heard him stumble? She frowned, staring down at him from her perch on ma's old stairs. Something was wrong. She hurried down.

“Hades.” She crossed the six steps between them in ma’s small living room. “What’s goin on? You ok? Ain’t like you to stutter.” She took the bags from him, realized with surprise that he’d actually repacked her belongings carefully – each of her travel dresses carefully folded, the flowers of her underworld crown tucked on top. He’d made a careful effort, which was either a case of him being sweet, him being worried, or both.

“I’m—“ he sat on ma’s couch like all the air went out of him and he shook his head. “I don’t know...”

He trailed off.

Well didn’t that just clear everything up. _Patience_ , she thought; Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither were they. Would make sense it would take him time to knock down his walls, just like hers.

“Oh.” She sat next to him. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, starin’ down at his big hands. She didn’t say anything either, and the silence dipped from comfortable to awkward to _mighty awkward_ within the span of a few seconds.

“I didn’t come to – to bring ya. Down, I mean. I hope you know — “ He turned toward the kitchen; ma was beatin’ something half to death in there, but what, Persephone had no idea. Whatever it was, Hades seemed to find it fascinating, because he wasn’t looking at her.

“I know.” She tried to reach out to him then, tapped his hand with her own. He squeezed it quicker than she’d dared to hope he would, and looked at her. Ma was right. He didn’t look happy at all. He looked…squeamish _._ She wondered if he’d just gotten carried away with the music, and now he was tryin’ to get out of what he promised with Orpheus. “You…you still wanna try in the fall?”

“What? Yes.” He looked offended she’d even asked, then turned back down to starin’ toward the kitchen floor. A beat passed, another. She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. “…You?”

“Yes.”

His shoes beat time against ma’s nice carpet, an odd shuffling noise for someone who spent so much of their time being stock-still. She leaned into him and waited for him to spit it out. He didn’t bother to look at her for another long, awkward minute. She sighed.

“I love you, Persephone,” he said after a moment, apropos of nothing. He’d switched like a damn light-switch, turning toward her with an intense expression. She wondered if he’d forgotten the sunglasses, or had decided to leave them so she could see him plain. Well, it didn’t help. He looked like he was drowning and she felt like she was, too.

“I know.” Should she say it back? She’d have thought it obvious, but then, maybe nothing they felt for one another was obvious to one another anymore. “Love you, too. So you know.”

He smiled for half a second, then flipped back to the frown. Silence. He tapped his feet.

Maybe if she changed the topic, he’d finally work up the nerve to say what he needed to say.

“Thank you for bringing my things.” Course he could have given ‘em to Hermes, and it was a bit odd he hadn’t. Hades was busy and Hades didn’t like to provoke ma and ain’t much ma generally hated more than his ass in her space.

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”

Another long beat. She sighed. What was it about this man that she loved, when every damn word had to be pulled out of his throat like a magician’s scarf? She’d try bein’ direct.

“Hades.” He looked at her. “What’s goin’ on? Talk to me.”

His face crumpled for half a second, then he turned away again, back at the kitchen. She bit back a snap of her tongue and leaned further into him, grabbing his chin to gently guide him back to her. He looked at her, visibly lost. She tipped his mouth toward hers and leaned forward and watched as comprehension dawned and he realized what she wanted. He smiled, pressed a light kiss to her mouth. It was nice. He smiled again and looked down. He was obviously thinking it was nice, too.

But his boots were still thumping against ma’s nice carpet. Something was eatin’ at him. Something maybe he didn’t want ma to hear, judging how he kept glancing out that way. Her stomach twisted, vines of doubt blossoming in her chest.

“You wanna go for a walk?” She asked, grabbing his hand. He looked up. “C'mon, let’s go out. Let’s go.”

He mutely followed her up, obedient.

“You…. Goin' somewhere?” Ma stood in the kitchen doorway, some sort of dough rolled between her fingers. She had her eyebrows raised at Hades.

“Just gonna show him the garden, he ain’t been around,” she said, tilting her head. Ma had to understand what she was asking, a wordless request for privacy. _Please, mama_.

“I’m not takin’ her from ya, Demeter,” he mumbled, quiet as the grave. Ma nodded to them both, though they both knew it was a bit of a lie. Five months and twenty-nine days, and he’d back. Least she hoped it would be five months and twenty-nine days.

“Okay.” Ma held up a small dough ball between her fingers. “You kids…enjoy. Be some salad and fresh bread rolls in about an hour if you're stickin’ around for lunch, Hades. Rye.” Her favorite; Persephone smiled. Ma was gonna take care of her no matter what. And it was mighty kind of her to offer to Hades too; ma must have understood more than she thought if she were willin’ to offer to break bread with the man.

In typical Hades' fashion, he said nothing in response, just held her hand and nodded.

“Thanks, ma,” she said, grabbing his hand. “C' mon.”

He followed contently at her back, silent as a stone as he followed her down rickety wood steps. She glanced back at him, blinking heavily, and tilted her head to the right. “Shady path this way.”

“We don’t—if you want sun…”

She rolled her eyes and he looked down at his feet. Gods above and below, she thought. It was a damn miracle they had ever gotten together, because they never seemed to be able to do anything without hurting or annoying one another, not anymore. “Look…I just got up here myself. Be easier on me, too.”

He nodded, mouth knit in a wary line as if he didn’t _really_ believe she preferred it. But he didn’t snap at her, so he was trying and so she supposed she should, too. She took him over by the high line of trellises; in summer the trellises would be full of grapes and barley, but, for now, they were full of shadows and cool silence. He followed in her wake and to break the silence, she muttered about little things that didn’t matter: the type of grapes and barley, the little wild plants she knew he wouldn’t recognize.

For a few minutes, she nattered without end about all the things ma and her had planned to grow, and he nodded appreciatively to each one. It was one thing she loved about him; he’d always taken an interest in what she said, even if it was foreign to him. Some old fondness made her feel a little self-conscious as she waited for him to tell her what it was he’d come for; still, she felt something inside her that had been held too tense melt just a little bit as he ran his fingertips over her knuckles while she talked about spinach and romaine, carrots and radishes.

“Lover,” he said eventually, rawness in his voice, just when she was about to tell him the entire history of ma’s lettuce patch, and she shut up, turning back to him.

“Yeah?”

“I….” He grabbed her hands and squeezed ‘em. He leaned in closer, and she slipped her arms from his hands to his big back, embracing him. He smelled as he always did, slightly sooty and earthy. “I got somethin’ to tell ya.”

She could tell by his voice —deep as death and dark as the soil— that it weren’t anything good. She looked up, he swallowed. She did too, wondering what it was. He’d wanted to start again, he loved her; they weren’t leaving' one another behind anymore. What tragedy was left to cling to them?

“Okay,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. _Gotta try, gotta try._ “I’m listening.”

He opened his mouth, but the voice that filled her ears wasn’t his.

“Miss Cora!” A neighbor was coming their way, waving to her. She knew it could only be Gladys from her voice, bleating like a goat. Gladys was one of ma’s friends, a poor little mortal living deep in the fields just past their farmland. She’d been a farmer all her life and a midwife damn near as long.   _Neighbor_ , she mouthed to Hades, and Hades shut his big, steely trap as if she’d told him it was a titan. She sighed.

Gladys made her way over, though it took her longer than it had last spring. She saw Hades turn his head to look at her and knew he was seeing how few seasons the woman had left. A new acquisition, soon. Sometimes, she could see it too, in early spring and late summer. She squeezed his back and nodded, hoped he knew she meant the conversation was being paused, not forgotten. They'd ignored too damn many inconvenient conversations in their marriage.

“Hello, Gladys,” she said.

“Didn’t know you were back already!” Her face softened, looking at her. “You ain’t lose your job, did ya? Your mama says your work up north is a seasonal thing, and I heard from my cousin Betty Lou that things is real bad up there. Too much winter, too much. Not sure even a _déesse de printemps_ like yourself could warm things up there!" Truer than she knew, Persephone thought ruefully with a small smile. “You okay?”

“I’m ok,” Persephone said, looking at Hades and smiling. “ _We’re_ ok, actually. Good news from the big plant. Heard that winters are gonna be mild from now on.”

Gladys looked up at Hades, visibly startled, as if she hadn’t realized he’d been there until this very moment.

“ _Mon dieu,_ I’m sorry here I am talking your ear off and we ain’t been introduced. I’m Gladys Blanchard, been a neighbor to this one since she was…well, for…for forever really.” Her face wavered in the way mortals did when they were confronted with a fact that made them uncomfortable. Persephone hadn’t aged a day in the time she’d known her but Gladys had gone from knee high wisp of a child to a bent old lady in the span of what felt like minutes. Gladys’ mortal memories had simply bent her perceptions of Persephone to match, from beloved auntie to young co-conspirator to treasured niece. Paying attention to the ways her mind her lied to her just made Gladys visibly uncomfortable, and she doubted the discomfort mortals always felt being near her man was helpin’.

“ _Enchanté_ ,” Hades said, holding out a stiff hand. Gladys studied him carefully as she shook it, and then looked back to Persephone and back to him.

“This is my —"

“You must be her father, finally home from the mountains!” Hades grimaced and Persephone winced as Gladys leaned in, a cajoling finger in his face. “Demeter said he had a silver tongue, and I can tell from your accent you’re…well, you've had a classical education.”

“He’s my husband,” Persephone said plainly and Gladys looked between them, startled.

“…Oh. _Oh_. But you’re so young and he’s so…” Persephone let just a bit of her queen of the dead glare slip out and the woman quivered, struck dumb. She shook her head. “Ain’t my business. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just…never have seen him around before.”

“He works up north with me in the big factory. But his job isn’t seasonal, like mine. Can’t come down here too much. He’s too important.” She leaned into Hades’ chest and ignored the way he stiffened up underneath her.

“Suppose he’d have to be a Yankee,” she drawled; her eyes were a little cool as she evaluated him and Hades draped his hands around her waist, a late realization on his part of the behavior expected of a mortal husband, but welcome enough. “The classical education and…liberal views,” she said, and Persephone closed her eyes, wished Gladys would go away. “You stayin, or is this just a visit…?”

“Visit,” Hades rumbled. Very briefly he smiled, sharp as always. “You’ll be seeing more of us together, though. In seven months or so.”

Persephone pursed her lips to keep from giving away what he really meant. She’d be seeing them alright. And not as a social call.

“Finally coming home for good? Oh, ain’t yer ma gonna be so happy!” Gladys beamed as if the man hadn’t just good as told her this would be her last summer. Of course, Persephone knew, she hadn’t realized. “Well that’s good, that’s good. Glad to see your new mister is coming home, too. Ain’t good for a couple to spend too much time apart after marriage, especially once the children are born and I’m sure given your age – I mean, I’m sure you two are just likely in a hurry, is all. And well…” She squeezed Persephone’s hand with a comforting look. “ _Vous bébés_ …they won’t have any problems down here with a daddy like that, you know? Skin like milk, I bet.”

Hades' eyebrows flexed, confused. She didn’t bother to explain it. “ _Merci_ , Gladys. But we need to be going – ma is in the kitchen and I’m sure she could use your company.”

“Of course, of course. My apologies for interrupting your time with…” Her mouth faltered, quivering into a thin frown. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember his name…”

“ _Clymenus,”_ he murmured. She raised her eyebrows; not the usual cover name, not since the old, old days. Gladys looked a little oddly at him, and she knew her brain was rewriting what he’d said.

“Well…it was nice to meet you…Clyde. And a joy to see you, as always, Cora.”

It took an interminable eight minutes – she counted – for dear old Gladys to safely scuttle out of earshot.

“ _Clyde_ ,” he muttered under his breath, scandalized.

“Clyde,” she whispered, laughing. “ _Clyde_. Clyde and his Cora.”

They both collapsed into a delicate titter, the sort of laughter they hadn’t had flowing easily between them in…years. Something between them she wasn’t aware was broken knitted up, and she knew she had to break it again to heal it clean but…for the moment, she laughed.

“It has a ring to it. _Cora et Clyde._ ” She impersonated her neighbors New Orleans-bastardized French, itself just a fancied up bastardized Latin. Fates, weren’t they so old. She remembered when those tongues were new.

“ _Aidoneus kai Persephoneia,_ ” he said. “Not so different.” A smile, a genuine one, small and sweet, passed his mouth for half a second. “Aidoneus is a bit more dignified sounding than Clyde, though.”

It was a nice moment. She let them linger in it. “I preferred to think of you as my _fíltatos,_ back then,” she said, tracing his ancient wedding ring with her finger. She hadn’t called him that in a literal eon; hadn’t meant it, in truth, in even longer.  

He ducked his head down and rested it on her shoulder in response to the old and well-treasured word, and she wrapped her hands over his big, heavy shoulders. His old, old heart struck her chest like a hammer, the beats fast and furious, and she frowned, remembering their conversation before they were interrupted. What was he so nervous to tell her? She heard ma and Gladys clucking and felt Hades tense out of habit at the unexpected noise. 

“Come on,” she said, walking out further, out into the forest at the edge of ma’s fields. No more interruptions.

As always, he followed behind. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, then he cleared his throat, and she knew from the sound of it that he was going to come dangerously close to ruining a good thing.

“You didn’t tell…” Hades said, voice carefully honed with a very subtle edge before it trailed into nothingness. She stopped. He clammed up, as if suddenly frozen. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, saw his lips firm into a frown.

“Tell who what?”

“The mortal woman.” He’d already forgotten her name. “That you were married.”

Ah, that old jealousy. She glared and held out her hand, let her ring catch the light. “Worn this every damn day since the world started spinning, Hades. Ain’t my fault if the mortals don’t notice.” She glared at him, her mood all stormy.  He had _some cheek,_ accusing her of dancing with a different partner when he’d all but dragged that poor girl down and rubbed his wife’s face in the girl’s pretty hair. “I have _never_ disrespected our oaths so don’t you _dare_ try to throw that at me, _Clyde_.”

He held up his hands, squinting at her. “Didn’t say that.”

“I know you aren’t _sayin’_. Don’t stop you from _thinkin’_.” She stopped as she saw his face crumble with what looked close to regret, then sighed. Caught herself. “I…I… No, you're right. You didn’t say that and I been making an ass out of myself long enough to know I shouldn’t assume a damn thing about what you mean to say.”  

“I wasn’t…” he said, but he trailed off himself, seconds later. Maybe he was trying, too. “I just… I never asked. How you explain when you’re with me and I just…never asked. _Should_ have asked.” The last part was said very softly.

“Yeah, well…” She said. “You didn’t, and I didn’t offer either.”

He nodded as if that explained it all; she grabbed his hand and he held it tight as she led him to her favorite spot; a long-dead oak, massively old and wider than the two of them put together. Probably the only thing left around here older than her and him, besides ma. The large shade of the oak left a meadow with a ring of trees around it, darkening the light.

And not a living plant to be seen.

“This is more like home,” he said.

“Sit down.” She sat by the edge of the oak and he followed, sitting close but not close enough to her. The ground was cold and a bit wet, and she winced as she sat though he, more used to the cold and the dirt, did not.

“Thought you’d like this place. One of my favorites, in the springtime.” She didn’t tell him it was because it reminded her of him, in the good years. Didn’t tell him she hadn’t been here in a damn long while, either, because she didn’t come here in the bad years. She suspected he knew why she liked the space, though, because he closed the distance between them, leaning into her. His hand moved onto her knee and she didn’t move it. They sat in companionable silence for a long moment.

Hades said nothing.

She sighed. “Hades, tell me the bad news." He looked at her, eyes wide. “Its obvious something’s been eating you alive and I’m…It’s alright. Whatever it is. We’ll find a way. _Aidoneus kai Persefoni, Pluto et Proserpina, Cora and Clyde_. Been together too long to not be, right? Yer stuck with me now. For eternity.” She smiled, but it vanished a second later as she looked at him.

Her husband’s face had fallen, and he looked away quickly, but not quick enough. He was ashamed. Ashamed and _scared_ , her husband, and she wondered now: what was so bad he’d crawled his way out of hell, so she’d hear it from him and not Hermes? The girl, she thought, stomach sick. There was nothing else that could produce such a raw reaction. What could be the worst – _oh_. Maybe he had slept with the girl, gone and made his wife a total fool and gotten his mistress pregnant on top of it all. That had to be it, it would explain everything: his shame, his need to tell her he loved her, his need to give her an ugly truth before Hermes blabbed it. And after all, wasn’t that how they’d test for infertility in the old days? If your prize stallion wasn’t seeding foals any more, try a new mare.  Maybe he hadn’t meant to, but maybe he’d discovered that old truth in its own ugly way. The girl was dead but now she weren’t so much so, and pa above knew mortals were knocked up in all kinds of strange ways by their kind.  Hell, pa had probably invented new ways of doin’ it.

“Is it about that girl?” She asked, ignoring how her voice broke. He scooted a bit away from her and she felt tears sting her eyes. She didn’t need an answer; that small movement told her all she needed to know.

“Yes.” He answered anyway and answered clear, no mumbling, and she felt the granite of his voice vibrate into the underworld.  

“Oh,” she said, and took a deep breath, because she wanted to cry and was deeply aware of the fact that he was now staring at her.  It had been easier to forgive him for posturing with that girl when she hadn’t thought he’d gone so far. Now she just felt sick, sick. _Furiously_ sick. “Do you...do you want…?”

She didn’t get further than that her first try, and then burst into a heavy sob. His hand reached out toward her and then, abruptly, stopped. It hung, useless, in front of her. She wanted to take it but just…couldn’t. It wasn’t just the ugly reminder of the girl and it wasn’t just Hades own failures if he’d gone that far on making a fool out of her. It was all of that and all the things that she’d failed to provide in their marriage that this girl could, and it all hurt, crashing on her shoulders. She wasn’t much of a wife, she knew: gone six months, horrible cook, awful lush, terrible maid, and a womb as barren as the void.  He was a shit husband at points but she’d been just as shit a wife by any traditional measure and that’s all he was: traditions, rites and rituals _._ The girl could give him a right traditional wife, bein’ human; she could be bound in all the right kinds of ways and none of the old arcane ones Persephone was. Could give him lots of children, evidently. Wouldn’t leave him, hell, couldn’t if he didn’t want her to, cause he owned her gods be damned soul! _Fuck_. He'd let those kids go but if that girl was carrying his godchild, he’d go back on his promise. She knew he would. Hades wasn’t too good at giving up what was his and who knew that better than her?

He left his hand hanging toward her for a long and interminable moment. She didn’t dare look at his face, just concentrating on that hand that hung outstretched at her. It was shaking or she was. Wasn’t sure which, and it might, she thought, have been both of them. “Is she…is she gonna give you the baby I couldn’t, Hades?”

He was silent and the hand held out to her vanished. Gods above, that was a yes, wasn’t it? She felt her stomach’s contents threaten to come up like she’d drank one too many of Hermes’ most nasty kitchen sink cocktails and swallowed hard to keep the bile down.

“It’s ok, if you want to keep the…her baby. I won’t…can’t…” She sobbed, loud, and suddenly felt his handkerchief suddenly under her nose, his other hand trying to pull her into his heavy lap. She took his handkerchief, blew her nose with it. Both hands now free, he all but hauled her into his lap, big arms at each side of her, with his sooty, smoky scent in her throat and scratchy beard in her face. He all but shoved her into his big body like he could make her part of him and she hated wondering if he'd held _her_ like this. She hated that girl, well, hated the _thought_ of him with that girl…but she wouldn’t deny him an heir, if it came to that. “’I mean it ain’t ok, but…I’lI be a good stepmama, you know?” She’d dress that baby up in swaddling clothes and smile and just try to pretend maybe that there could be a bit of her in it. “I’ll learn to love. Not….not gonna play Hera.”

“No,” he growled. “I didn’t…Nothing like that happened. Or _will_ happen. It’s….” His voice was heavy, so heavy and old and _sure_ that she couldn’t help but feel some relief flood her veins. He hadn’t, he hadn’t. “That’s…everything gone so bad…that’s not on you, lover. It’s my fault. Been my fault, my fault, all of it, every damn little thing.” He grabbed her head and tilted her upward, kissed the tip of her head.  “I just…” He closed his eyes, stroked the tears off her cheek, sighed. “I thought you should know: they didn’t make it. Up here. The boy made it pretty far. To the doorsteps. But he…”

Hades couldn’t finish, but she knew. He had turned around, she knew it in an instant. The simplest test, and the hardest, and he’d failed. Failed as the girl had when she’d abandoned the boy for Hadestown, failed like Persephone did every time she acted like Hades was little better than a ball and chain, failed like Hades had when he’d stormed off after so many arguments instead of talking with her plain, failed like pa had failed to stay true, failed like ma had when she’d dared to think she could love pa enough for them both, failed like all the stories she'd heard of the generations before, of Hades' mad-eyed pa and shame-faced ma and the warring sky above and earth below. So many loves gone bad. She’d known Hades had given them a chance but the kid had gone and blown it just like the rest of them and now there was nothing more that could be done.

“Oh, those poor children.” She thought of the girl, smiling brilliantly against the mist and the smoke and deep, deep dark _. We’ll show them the way, show them the way…_ Hubris. It was not a good thing, Persephone knew, to invite the fates to have the last laugh. _Men are fools, men are frail_. They’d had it half right in their whispers to her husband; men were frail, gods were too, but _nothing_ was as fragile as love was.

He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed, and neither of them moved a long, long time. She wasn’t sure how long; didn’t matter anyway. They were Gods and they had all the time in the world. She felt something wet splash her cheek and realized he was crying.

“Damndest thing, lover. I gave them a chance expecting doubt to creep in but they got so far even I hoped they'd get out…but…They didn’t make it,” he said. “So uncomplicated, and they…they didn’t make it. How can we…”

And she understood, then, just what he meant and just why he was so damn bothered by this, why he had to see her and why he felt so damn powerless. How could they make it, if those two kids hadn’t, them who were so old, them who had so much history buried between them? How could they make it? How could they when every example either of them had ever had had gone wrong, wrong, wrong?  The tears threatened to well up again and she rubbed at her eyes.

“The girl’s sitting in my office, crying,” he said, voice ashamed and broken and quiet. “And I knew you'd be pissed to see me, but…I had to come, lover. Because I don’t know how to fix this. Fix us.”

She closed her eyes and grabbed his face, ran her thumb over his sharp cheekbones. “I ain’t pissed.” She stroked his cheek and watched his jaw relax a bit at that. “How long have you left her sittin’ there? Would have taken you a lot of time to come up here.”

He looked at her with tear-stained eyes. “A while.” He had probably flown from his office at the sight of her, then spent a long while at the train station, she thought, fixing his cuffs and straightening his hair and wondering if it was worse to deal the girl’s fate alone and risk Persephone’s ire at his choice or to seek her opinion and risk her ire at him bein’ there when he promised his distance. She wasn’t surprised that he’d chosen the option where he got to see her, but she tried not to think uncharitably about it. It was never him visiting that was the problem, it was him taking her wherever he damn wanted without asking. This wasn’t taking without asking.

This, now? This was just…just sharing, she thought.  Ain’t nothing wrong with that and lord father above and grandfather below knew, they hadn’t shared their burdens enough. She smoothed down his old hair, felt the pleasing weight of it, smooth and soft under her nails. He leaned into it.  

“Probably snooped through all your files by now,” she mused. The little thing had been nothing if not industrious. She’d cried, but, Persephone thought, she wouldn’t cry forever; that one was a fighter. And she’d already be trying to find ways out. _Always_ be trying to find ways out.

“Probably.” He touched her hair, his hands getting lost in her curls. He’d always loved her hair, been enraptured by it, really. He’d brush up against it when they were chattin’ outside when she was a young girl, the first sign she’d ever seen him want her as more than a sometimes friend. Later, he’d hold onto it when they were makin’ love, run his hands so deep in her hair that it’d take minutes for him to sort his way out of all her curls afterward. He had always loved to touch her hair, and she remembered, too, how she’d cut it all off once, just to spite him. She’d shorn the whole thing and thrown those locks at him, and how he’d yelled at what a cat-eyed fool she was being. She’d smiled then, pleased at hurting him. That old memory stuck like a knife in her chest, and she closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on now, not then. Couldn’t drown in the _thens_ , not anymore. Had to accept that they had been through some bad times, and they weren’t going to let that happen again. All they could do was try. She thought of Eurydice and guilt tugged at her chest. There was really only one thing to do; sending her back to the mines would be to court a martyr, sending her directly to the boy would make her husband look weak and she wouldn’t make Hades’ job harder than it already was. Besides, Orpheus had to work off his failures.

Just like them.

“I think…” He looked up at her and she saw his eyes, deepest brown-black, and wondered when she’d stopped thinking of them as beautiful. They had always been his best feature: sharp as he was, wide, deep. She’d wanted their children to inherit his eyes, back when she’d thought she’d be able to give him some. She stroked his cheek and he leaned into it with a hunger that made her quiver. “Send her to the Lethe. She might find the boy, on this side. It’ll give’em a chance, again; it’ll get’em out of our hair, too.”

“It’d take twenty years for her to get old enough to find him, and no guarantee she’d even want him then, or vice versa,” he murmured, voice as old as time. “He’d be an old man by then, long alone.”

“Some damage takes time to heal. And some women…” She raised her eyebrows. “Some women prefer older men. Love will blossom through the cracks, if it’s meant to be. No matter how high the walls.” If it didn’t happen, they’d receive them at the allotted time and send them through the Lethe, let them try again. And again. And again, if it took another chance. And again, if they screwed it up another time. Again, again, and again. Until the end that ended right.

That was the beauty of life, she thought; they could all try again. Maybe it didn’t matter if ma and pa and Hades’ ma and pa and _their_ mas and pas had all gone south; maybe it was just they didn’t try enough, didn’t want to protect their love enough. Now, in some ways, the mortal way was easier and she envied them of it; she and Hades wouldn’t be burdened with so many years of memories, could forget all the ways they’d been awful to one another. But then, they would have forgotten all the ways they worked, too, and she supposed that to forget that would be a curse as much as forgetting how they didn’t would be a blessing. And, she thought, no point in wishing for an option they’d never have.  She leaned her head against his shoulder. They’d just…have to try to make more good memories, and less bad ones.

He looked at her, old, old eyes full of something deep. He put his head on top of hers, held her tight. “Alright. Alright.”

An old memory bubbled up, of him holdin’ here in his arms, just like this, but so long ago, when nothing was between them yet. She remembered his heart beating like a jackhammer and hers barely a half-beat slower, his words tumbling in her ears _. How long would you like to be down here? Stayin’ with this old man?_ He’d asked then, and she realized, only now, how much doubt had been in him from the very start, how he’d always assumed that, at some point, she’d fly away from him for good.

“They’ll make it, eventually,” she said, but what she meant was, _we will_ , _too._ It was harder to tell him that, but she squeezed his hand at her shoulder and he squeezed back. They were both stubborn as hell and they both loved one another; wasn’t that enough? To try, and if they fell, to try again? Forever and ever? She wasn’t sure if it was heaven or hell to be caught in that cycle, but no matter what, she wanted it with him. She should tell him, she thought. Tell him that they were gonna make it, because he might be the one to doubt, but maybe she had too, and maybe neither of them had been very good at reassuring one another, either.

“We can hope it is so. Since that’s sorted….I should leave,” he said, but made no move to get up. “Underworld doesn’t run itself.”

“You should,” she agreed, nodding her head. “But…not yet. Hold on. I got somethin’ to say.” She shifted in his lap, turning’ to straddle him, to hold his old, old face between her hands. He watched her with those sharp eyes centered right on her mouth. Didn’t say anything, just watched her. She took a long moment; no need to rush. Six months alone was gonna feel like a long time after this.

“I know you’re scared that what’s happened to us before will happen to us again. But it ain’t.” She pressed her forehead against him, swallowed. Had to close her eyes, cause being open with him was harder than hatin’ him, and she wanted, more than anything, to not hate him. “Not anymore. You’re wrong, you know — bringin’ that girl down is your fault, maybe, but we both done bad to one another. And I know you’re sorry, and I’m sorry too, so let’s just…stop bein’ sorry, and start over. Let’s be better.” They would, too; she’d give up the drink, and he’d have to give up some of his control, and both would be a sacrifice but a sacrifice she knew was worth it. She grabbed his old hand, rubbed the wedding’ ring he’d built in a garden like this one, all them years ago, and an idea came to her that she knew was the best she’d had in years. “We just start fresh, and I know we said fall, but let’s start just a little bit today, have a fun little renewal ceremony. Celebrate our damn nuptials.” Her mouth quirked upwards, and his with it, both caught in old memories. ”Now, you already made me this ring for my finger, so that’s done; I already ate a six-seed banquet, can’t do that again…” She pressed a kiss to his lips, not a soft little one but a hard and claiming thing, like the one he’d seared into her all those many, many years ago. “Guess the only thing we can do to renew our vows is to make our bed.”

“Lover, I don’t follow…” His brows were knit and she kissed him again, once, twice, and then stood; his eyes followed as she coursed power through her body. Been a while since she made a display this grand, and she wanted to do good. She let her feet seep into the earth and she thought of all the tendrils of plants long-dormant, of the roots that trailed from one of her homes to the other, stretched always in pursuit of her: things died, things returned. The underworld hosted the spirits of so many things, so many, and she gathered a handful, pulled them toward her. Saw in her attempt a thousand journeys, each completing a familiar ending and flowing to a new beginning. Threw her hands out and let things grow, saw the whole beautiful cycle for a long moment — the earth, pulling nutrients from the underworld to bring itself back to life.

Hades swore, rather loudly, and she opened her eyes.

Green grass littered the area around them, a twenty-foot burst of summer-time green, buds and flowers drifting in the breeze. Hades hadn’t noticed any of that, seemingly; he was standing now, staring upwards, and only then did she realize why: she’d brought the damned oak back! She laughed; supposed it made sense, its roots were down in the underworld, too, and maybe its spirit with it. Its branches flourished verdantly, giving them deeper shade. Vines tumbled down from its branches, waxy green leaves swaying gently in the breeze.

“What are you…?” He looked bewildered, and she realized: he’d never seen this, not really. Never been with her when she was fertile as a well-plowed field, never been able to see this side of what she could bring.

“Makin’ the bed,” she growled, beckoned him over with one crooked finger. “When I said a little renewal ceremony, I meant it literally. Maybe _you_ don’t like a little cushion on your back when you’re on your bridal bed, but it makes a lot nicer weddin’ for the one on the bottom.”

“O-oh.” He crossed the space between them with a frown and for a moment she feared he’d tell her she was being a stupid child and that he’d be on his way.

“You ain’t gotta be on the bottom this time,” he said, finally, with all the seriousness of a damned monk, and she couldn’t stop herself from laughing until she cried. He didn’t join in, but he didn’t look angry either, and when she wiped the tears from her eyes, she found a half-smile on his face. He bend down, grabbed a couple forget-me-nots; tucked one behind his ear, and then put one behind hers. It wasn’t the elaborate crowns she’d knitted their first time ‘round, but it would have to do. Papa above knew if they had to wait for him to do flower crowns, they’d be here all damn night and a good deal of tomorrow, too.

“I want it traditional on my weddin’ day,” she growled, and jumped on him. He wasn’t prepared for that, but he caught her, as he generally did, molded her body to his and then he was kissing her, kissing her hungry as hell and desperate to be sated, and it wasn’t quite the slow and subtle kissing that they’d started with in the old world, but it was just what she needed. He pulled her hem up higher and higher before deciding the dress was a cross too heavy to bear, tossing it on the oak and gently laying her down, and she was makin’ quick work of him, too; clothes scattered like wild birds, his coat flying like a particularly unskilled raven somewhere to the right, his pants landing like a crow, a dull thud somewhere to the left. She hoped it was a good sign he didn’t seem particularly bothered by the somewhat casual tossin’; he could be fussy, her old man.

Wasn’t focusing on anything but her now, though.

“Lover, lover,” he whispered; kissin’ her, kissin’ her like he hadn’t in years, like a man starving. His old hand hit hers and she held it, squeezed it a moment before trailing her fingers up his arm and staring into those big, dark eyes that she loved so very much.

“How long,” she muttered against his mouth. “How long are you gonna stay with this old girl? Deep down under the ground?”

“Long as she’ll be my wife,” he murmured. “Long as the world turns, and even after it stops. Always, always, if she’ll agree.”

“She does.”

And that was enough, for weddin’ vows.

He took her gentle and sweet after that, slow but somehow frantic in its slowness; he buried himself deep and kept his thrusts small and gentle. She let him do most of the work, for once, her lips and hands busy trying to banish all the ghosts that had taken up residence in their bodies, so many without either of them ever quite noticing. It was different, this time, from the first — they were older, both of ‘em, so much older and maybe, if they were really lucky, just a bit wiser — but it felt, so much, the same: a sacred rite, a holy rite.

“I love you, I do, I do,” he murmured into her ear, old sing-song that she hadn’t heard him use with her in years, _years_. His voice melted in her like honey and if she wasn’t close just from the emotions coursing through her old bones, his love-thick voice damn would have brought her to that point all on its own.

“I do,” she crooned into his ear, shuddering against him, sweaty and hot with his heat in her. “I do, too.”

He grabbed her tighter; her legs wound around his hips like a vine and he just groaned, just whimpered all soft in her ear as he gently tilted himself up into her again and again. They’d had many ways of making love and something this slow had never been their usual — but pressed forehead to forehead, endlessly aware of every bit of him, she realized she wouldn’t trade this intimacy for the world. 

She couldn’t say how long they stayed together in that meadow. Apollo’s light faded to all but gone — not that either of them needed it to see, so long underground — but it felt important, not to rush this. Had to make the intention known, the desire felt; the first part of changin’, she’d read once, was to _want_ to change.

“Come on home with me, honey,” she huffed, when she knew from the soft rasp of his breath that he was close; didn’t matter if she wouldn’t have his baby, she’d take the feel of him, of feeling a bit of him stay behind when he was so far gone underneath her. He nodded, buried his head in her shoulder until she grabbed him, steered his cheek back into her view. She wanted to see him. He let her, and the look of him, so close to being gone, mouth open, eyes wide…what a beautiful man, her man, undone like this, just for her. They’d make it, they had to, and she wasn’t brave enough to say that out loud just yet and invite the fates to come and croon but she _felt_ it in her bones that they’d make it. If not this time, the next.

They’d always be chasin’ one another.

She wrapped her legs tighter around him, held him as close as she could, trying to guide him to stay, stay with her. Every bit of life she had, she poured into him; felt the warmest breath of springtime growth blow into him from her fingertips and felt him shaking in her arms in response. He grabbed her hips and went as deep as he possibly could; didn’t take him more than a few of those heavier strokes before he shuddered, his eyes squeezing shut, his head desperately restin’ on her hands as he came shuddering apart in her arms and trusted her to pick up the pieces again.

He looked at her as he came back to himself, love so well-written in his features that she wanted to cry. She would make him a better wife, she would; he would make a better husband, too. They were both far too stubborn to not succeed at this, and wasn’t this proof, proof that they could still love? He shifted; pulling out to make space for one of his hands to dip between them, pressing up against her bud and rubbing gently. He was trying to take her home.  And he did, as he always did in the end; not early this time but on just the right-damn-time, and she came with a sob of his name on her lips.

Neither of them did anything more than breathe for a long time after that.

“I don’t want to go,” he admitted finally, stretching himself out next to her. She knew why he’d said it; saw it in the way his hand dipped into the soil beneath their marriage bed. Lord of the Dead wasn’t supposed to walk the world too often, and he was getting’ called downstairs. She would be too, six months from now.

“I don’t want you to either.” She reached out, squeezed his hands. “But it’s time.”

“It’s time,” he agreed; there was no pleasure in his voice at the prospect, and he took his time getting re-dressed. As, admittedly, did she. She dawdled with the buttons, waited until she was fully dressed before she put the old boots on, the last thing she needed on before going back to play the respectable woman with her ma, like she couldn’t still feel the echoes of him between her legs. He turned her around to face him after she’d gotten properly shoed and pressed a ridiculously chaste kiss to her forehead.

“Six months.” It was not said happily.

“Six months,” she agreed. “But we’ll make it. If we try…” She held out a hand. He took it. Maybe, she mused, she could talk to ma about havin’ him visit a little more next year; see how that would go. She had let him in the house, and if that weren’t a sign of a ceasefire Persephone didn’t know what would be. But she wouldn’t promise him what she couldn’t give for sure. 

“We’ve tried a lot,” he muttered, but the squeeze of his fingertips on hers made the rebuke sting only a little instead of a lot. “But…we’ll try again. I’ll send the girl on ahead. Try to up the odds for her to be born close to him. Owe her that much.”

“You do,” she admitted, and dared to lean in a bit more as she guided him toward the tracks. Ma, she thought, would forgive not gettin’ a goodbye from him, so there was little point in putting them all through that awkwardness. He linked hands with her and leaned in as they walked out to the station together; for the first time in a long time, it felt more reassuring than smothering. Neither of them talked the whole damn walk back, but she didn’t mind. Not talking made it easy not to ruin things, to just enjoy his company, regardless.

The station came too quickly; there was the train, and the newly dead milled around it, waiting to board; neither she nor Hades dared to acknowledge them, not yet. She grabbed his hand, squeezed it tight in both warning and fondness.

“When I get down there, we’ll have a good, long talk. Try to find a way together. Have a good think about what you want from our marriage, Hades, how we can make this work.” She’d be doin’ the same, she knew.

“Alright.” He snapped open the door to the car, and she threw her arms around him in a hug that surprised, she thought, them both; he squeezed her tight and tipped her chin up.

“In six months time, wait for me here?” He asked; she nodded, a tear on her cheek that he wiped off with his hand and replaced with a kiss, feather-light on her mouth.

“I’ll be waiting. Front and center.” She gave him one more peck on his mouth. “That’s a promise.”

He nodded and boarded the train; the dead boarded behind him. She stayed behind, watching.

She watched the train roll down the tracks until it disappeared deep over the hills, its long, high wail of a cry fading off into the underworld stillness she’d return to herself in six months time.

Ma and Gladys were still clucking away in the living room when she got in the door, and Persephone was thankful of it; she grabbed a nice rye roll from the kitchen and stomped up to her room, knowing ma would wait for answers until Persephone was prepared to give them.

His flower still lay blossoming upon her pillow, and she curled it up in her arms, held it tight.

 _Wait for me_ , she thought. _Wait. I’m coming home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this chapter is late! I didn't wind up getting home until 3 AM yesterday and I'm still scrambling to catch up today — apologies I haven't replied to reviews in a bit, I will, I promise! I might move to permanently posting on Fridays just because its a much better day for me, but we'll see. 
> 
> Kore (Cora) and Clymenus are both names that Hades and Persephone would have been called in literary/cult functions; Kore being, roughly, "maiden" and Clymenus meaning "the famous/notorious one"; given that people aren't too comfortable with their functions as gods of the Underworld, I figured in this world people would perhaps cling to the more euphemistic titles in their memories as much as the ancient Greeks did in their words.
> 
> Aidoneus and Persefoni - Aidoneus is a longer variant of Hades name that he's sometimes referred to by in early texts (The Iliad; Homeric Hymn to Demeter), Persephoneia is the Homeric version of Persephone. 
> 
> filtatos (φίλτατος)- greek for beloved/dearest. 
> 
> Pluto and Proserpina - the Roman versions of Hades and Persephone 
> 
> Lethe - river of forgetfulness in Greek mythology, which souls were bathed in prior to starting a new life. 
> 
> six-seed banquet - in the original myth, Persephone had to eat three to six pomegranate seeds to become bound to the underworld; the amount of seeds and method in which she comes to eat them varies greatly among versions.
> 
> flower crowns - Seph makes a reference to making an elaborate flower crown for her wedding, which was an ancient Greek wedding tradition that remains a Greek Orthadox wedding tradition today. Stefanas (these wedding crowns) can be very plain or very elaborate, and can be metal or flowers - obviously, Seph, being a nature girl, tends toward the latter.


	7. Damocles' Overture [28. First Kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Months he’d been seeing her like this, months, and he was no less in her thrall than he had been when they started these little chats. His hands brushed against her hair and she leaned into the touch._
> 
> _“Are you here for me, uncle?” She asked. The question had become a repeated one, and each time, he saw the spark of wickedness in her eyes and knew she was teasing him. It was maddening, her mockery beyond cruel; she was young but she knew what he wanted, teased him just to make it more likely he would snap and kiss her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which mistakes are made (or not), kisses are stolen (or freely given), and nothing is ever uncomplicated. 
> 
> Set several months after [Ch 3:Something in the Heart Beat like a Drum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44326276) and some events that occur in this are referenced in [Ch 4: Stay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44543674). As always, however, can be read on its own. :)
> 
> Rating: PG
> 
> Warning(s): mention of the family ties between Hades/Seph in Greek Mythology (uncle/niece incest), most of this deals with an older man dealing for having an attraction to an (adult) woman a lot younger than him

He heard her voice before he’d entirely gotten up to the mortal world and his heart sped up, the virulent poison thrumming through his skin. Persephone’s face burst forth in his vision like the sun, as quickly as he crossed; a massive grin graced her face.

“Uncle Hades!” She cried out, and Hades thought of nothing so much as that he was making a very, very big mistake.

He stood stock still on his sister’s meadow, unannounced, as he had been doing every second he could when his sister’s back was turned. He felt guilt burn in his gut for a hot moment but dismissed it as Persephone grinned up at him, her smile more dazzling than anything Helios could ever summon. He didn’t even mind that his eyes hurt in the bright light of day, for her smile was a sweeter balm than darkness itself.

“I’m happy to see you,” she said, and threw her arms around him in a big hug. He hesitantly put his arms awkwardly at her shoulders and tried to hold back the poison he wanted so badly to inject into her. Months he’d been seeing her like this, _months_ , and he was no less in her thrall than he had been when they started these little chats. His hands brushed against her hair and she leaned into the touch. “Are you here for me, uncle?”

The question had become a repeated one, and each time, he saw the spark of wickedness in her eyes, and knew she was teasing him. It was maddening, her mockery beyond cruel; she was young but she knew what he wanted, teased him just to make it more likely he would snap and kiss her.

He nodded his head in response to her question and caught the wide smirk that painted her little face, even in the blinding sunlight. He was a cursed man; he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. He leaned down and smiled at his niece with a gentleness that would surprise all his other countless little nephews and nieces, for he never bothered to show it to anyone but her. His fingers grazed over her curls and he felt ashamed of how fast his heart beat at that little accidental contact.

“Just had a bit of spare time,” he said. That was not a lie, per se—he was a king, he made his own schedule—but it was not, entirely, the reason he had come. “Figured I’d make sure you weren’t being wicked while your poor mother was off workin’.”

“My reputation precedes me,” she purred, obviously pleased.  He let her go and swallowed; felt his heart’s song beat dangerously fast.

She turned away from him and moved toward a tree, spreading her long wrap out over the ground. “Come and chat a bit with me then, uncle.” She sat down and patted the improvised blanket; nothing in the entire universe could stop him from sitting next to her, not even the knowledge he was being a fool.

“How are you?” She snuggled up close to him, closer than she should have. He did not move as she oh-so-subtly pressed her hand into his chest, her touch so warm and sweet that he fought the urge to roll over on top of her, to trap her underneath him and kiss her senseless. Her hand moved over his heart in delicate little strokes, like she wasn’t aware of what sweet torture it was. He glanced at her eyes, found sparkling mirth. She knew what she did to him, didn’t she? Wicked creature. He bit back the urge to grab her hand and kiss it.

“Just fine,” he said; his fingers delicately wound through hers, stopping her exploration of his chest and trapping her hand in his own. “Yourself?”

“Happy, now that you’re here.” He glanced over at her and found her grinning, her tongue running down her lips. He had to glance away. “Day was borin’.”

She squeezed his hand.

“Can’t have that,” he murmured. “Though I’m afraid I’m not much for entertainment.”

“You’re plenty entertainin’, better than anything I had to do today.” Her hand broke away from his and trailed from his chest to his cheek, slowly pulling his head back to look at her. There was a heavy blush on her soft brown cheeks and he sucked in a breath in anticipation. “And there are _lots_ of things we could do to liven up the day, uncle Hades.”

“Mm.” A million responses crashed through his mind: what did she mean? She was shooting him a look that made him pause. Such a clever girl, and the way she was looking was…oh, it _was_. He stared. Her hand dipped lower, caressed the tender skin of his vulnerable throat. He swallowed as her fingers gently danced upon him. He’d never been comfortable with such touching from anyone, but from her, he did not mind, and it _terrified_ him that he did not.

She was a dangerous thing, Persephone.

The look in her eyes was dark and heavy, and he wondered: would today be the day she asked him for that kiss upon her mouth he had denied her so many months ago? He would give it to her, today. He would give it to her and give her so many more if she asked it of him despite all the reasons he should not. She looked at him and smiled, and, coward that he was, he changed the subject.

“What ah – did you have plans for the day? I do not wish to interrupt your duties.”

“You have interrupted nothing. I’ve the whole week off with ma gone. She wants me to go visit auntie Hes at some point, but…” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been trying to avoid that.”

“I rather thought you liked Hestia.” In their chats, he’d discovered Persephone had as sharp a tongue as his own. He had never heard her turn it toward his sister.

“Mm, I do, but…every time I go, now, it’s all about if I’m going to take her stupid vow.” He stiffened underneath her fingertips, studying her out of the corner of his eyes carefully.

“That something you’re considering?” Selfish as he was, he did not want her to take Hestia’s vow of eternal maidenhood. His feelings on that matter were abysmally stupid; given how inappropriate any prospective relationship would be. It was not as if he could mate her, regardless of whether she was an eternal virgin or not. The little thing tapped her finger against his chin and sighed, and he bit back so much venom in his throat.

“No. Maybe. I Don’t…” She sighed. “It depends on the spouse pa chooses, you know? It wouldn’t be so bad if I were matched to someone like you…but Ares? _Artemis?_ ” She wrinkled her nose in distaste, and he froze there, stuck on her words. _Someone like you, someone like you, someone like you_. _You._

Was that an invitation? Was she open to the idea of _marriage_ with him? He stared at her innocent face. Would she like it if he put his poison into her, turned her over _right now_ and pressed his lips to her tender neck? Would she take him without a hint of fear in her? No, he couldn’t, surely not. No. _Stop_. He ran his hand over his face and was unsurprised to find his face warm.

“Mm. I suppose death is better than some forms of company,” he muttered, and wished he’d brought along a hat to pull over his face.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” She pulled his hand off his face, replaced it with her own, delicately stroking his inflamed cheek. “It’s more that…We are good friends, right? I feel like I could talk to you about anything. Them, it’s all…political. Tell them about a knife and they start trying to put it in your back just to score points with pa or Hera. I loathe politics.”

“On that, we are agreed.” He squeezed her little hand, pulled it back down to his side. He was very, very aware they were getting quite handsy with one another, and knew he should push her hands away. No, better yet, he should get up, go, stop these pointless chats that made him only so much more aware of what he could not and would _never_ have.

But he did not get up, and he did not let go.

Instead, he held her hand for a long moment of silence, where he said nothing and she said nothing and he focused, entirely, on her small thumb, gliding slowly over his own. Her hand fit in his, now, and he hated how hyper-aware he was of that fact.  When had he become such an old pervert, wanting nothing more than to rut himself wild with this girl who had lived only a twentieth of the time he had been alive?

Much to his relief and sadness, she backed off after a moment, sitting straight up. “Urgh, let us think on happier things than Olympians, _please._ Have you ever made a flower crown, uncle Hades?” 

“No.” He shook his head.

“Never?” She had a mischievous glint in her eye. “I think you are telling fibs. Surely as a child —“  
  
“No.” He looked away. “Our childhood…Well, that is a topic I will leave to your mother.”

“She won’t say much,” Persephone hummed; he heard her pulling up flowers around her. “Just that it was hard.”

“It was.” He didn’t want to think about it; thinking about his father would ruin what was a truly promising day. He was more than well aware that his zealous desire to mate with this girl was as mad as any of his father’s obsessions, and disliked just how much he knew that to be true. He watched her instead as she picked up bits of clover. “Why don’t you show me how?”

She brightened at that and he watched, fascinated, as her fingers slowly knit the clover flowers into a braid. Her fingers moved with such skill that for a hot second he could think only of another use of such lovely fingers and had to curl onto his side so as to hide his reaction to it.

“It’s very simple,” she said, plucking another clover, and he watched her smile. “Would you like to try?”

“Rather watch the master at work.” He did for several minutes more as she made the crown larger, more ornate; he watched with some pride as she did her work. She was a beautiful thing, this girl, and clever, and nimble, and — he swallowed. He was getting carried away. Lost. Obsessive. _Stop._

“Tadaaaa!” She giggled and gently placed the crown on his head before he could stop her; he blinked in fuzzy surprise. Was she makin’ a joke on him? Mocking? He glanced at her, her soft cheeks such a warm color he was quite sure she was blushing down to her feet. She was genuine, then. Oh, why did that feel worse?

“You are handsome, uncle,” she said, and there was nothing mocking about it. “In my flowers. I mean.”

He felt the ichor rushing to his cheeks in some strange sort of sympathy for her awkward flirting and wondered if she saw it, too. He put his hand up to take off the crown and she said, softly: “Don’t. I—I like seeing my handiwork on you.”

She may as well have shouted her interest in him. His hand flew down, as if she had given him a command on the battlefield.

“Oh.” He closed his eyes. “Well, alright. I suppose your pleasure is worth my dignity.” Miserable old man. Liar. Pervert. He was all these things and he _hated_ it but he loved the way she looked at him, a wry little smile on her face.

“You’re plenty dignified.” She scoffed, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “You’re an earth god, it‘s natural for you to have a garland as your crown.”

“Mm. Well. For you, I’ll wear it.” He lazily glanced around him to make sure there were no other gods attempting to visit and court the little goddess, but there were none. It was not, entirely, surprising; he was the biggest snake in this garden and no one in her generation would dare to challenge him. _His_ generation might, but Zeus had abandoned the child and Poseidon’s tastes skewed older. No matter, of course. He should not be here at all.

And yet, he did not move from her side.

I suppose we’re compatible in that way,” she blurted out. “Both Earth gods, I mean.”

“Hm. A bit different.” He pulled his hands into the dirt and closed his eyes, pulled on the elements looking for something that would look pretty on her slender hand. Silver, he thought; silver would set off her golden skin nicely. He tugged a vein of silver up, coaxed the molten element over her wrist without quite letting it touch her skin.

She watched with transfixed attention as he delicately molded it, taking care only to touch the bracelet, not her hands. He formed small flowers with his fingers, delicately pushing pedals into being in the hot metal and cooling it as he tugged it closer to her skin. When it was done, he smiled up at her. “My gifts from Gaea…are a bit different, you see.”

He realized, too late, that he had just given her a courtship gift, and a sizable one. _Idiot_ , he thought, and he opened his mouth to tell her to forget it, that he had gotten carried away — but then he saw her, slowly rubbing her fingers against the metal, and he knew from the tender expression on her face that it had, decidedly, _not_ been rejected. He’d thought she found him attractive; now he knew she was considering something he never should have teased and his heart ached for it. 

“Oh,” she said softly. Quiet. “Thank you.”

“As someone once told me, you are supposed to give a gift when someone has given you one,” he drawled, mind consumed with her gentle look. She wanted. She _wanted_. She wanted and he wanted and _yet._ Couldn’t happen, wouldn’t happen.

He looked away, swallowed. He should go. _He should go_. He had convinced himself of that, was about to open his mouth to bleat out a poor excuse, when Persephone smiled and settled back down at his side. Her hand moved to embrace him, and he found his hand naturally upon her shoulder before he could quite fathom how it had moved there. A curl of her hair grazed his fingertips and he shivered. He let his finger wind through it before he could stop himself and closed his eyes.

She shifted over onto the guilty hand, her curly ringlet still half-held in its grasp. “Tell me about your tattoo, uncle.”

“Not much to say,” he murmured. “It’s a wall.”

“There must be a story.” He opened one eye to look at her and found her cuddled up to him, close as she could be, eyes eagerly hoping for stories he did not feel prepared to tell her. “Uncle Posie has a net, pa has a lightning bolt, and those make sense, but a wall...”

He raised an eyebrow. “A wall does not?”

“Well…A net catches fishes, and Uncle Posie is their master, so it makes sense he has a net to catch them and bring them to his side. Pa’s got a lightning bolt because he’s high and mighty and wants us all to know he strikes from above.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste and he bit his lip to keep from laughing; her father wouldn’t appreciate her rather accurate summary. “But the underworld doesn’t have much to do with walls. I mean, I assume it has walls...”

“Some,” he said dryly.

“But that isn’t all it is, right?” She said. “They called you the wall during the war, I know. I heard uncle Posie talkin’ with mom about it.”

Ah. He wondered how that story had come up; Poseidon and Demeter no doubt having some kind of bedroom chat about him. Perhaps Poseidon was plotting to expand his domain; perhaps they were merely concerned for a brother who, admittedly, was going as insane as the father they had once deposed, all for this slip of a girl.

“Please tell me,” she bit her lip. “Ma gets mad whenever I ask about that time, and uncle Posie just says _if your mamma wants you to know, you’ll know_ , which…doesn’t it matter that _I_ want to know?”

“It’s…” He hesitated. It was hard to talk of that time, but she was right. She wanted to know, and she had asked him directly, and he knew well enough if he refused, she’d ask someone else and someone more until she finally got the whole bloody story. No, he _should_ tell her, tell her so she _knew_ what sort of disaster she was courting. “During the war, I…we all had our roles. I was the strongest. I was the protector.”

 _Coward_. He could not and did not tell her that protecting his sisters and younger brothers often came at the cost of another life. There was a reason his siblings had maintained a well-worn distance after the war; there was a reason that he had become lord of the dead and it was not so much a bad draw as a _deserved_ one. He had sent more than his fair share of blood to the world below. He regretted none of it —it _was_ war — but even knowing he should, he could not find the courage to scare her off. Could not _bear_ to scare her off, which he damn well should do because this was — this couldn’t _go_ anywhere.

And yet. And _yet._

She shifted in his arms, lightly pressing her fingers down on the bricks of his arm. “So you’re…it’s a metaphor.” Tap tap tap; her fingers walked down the bricks. He wanted nothing so much as to hold her, to enfold her into his walls and keep her there, safe as he could make her. Was that a normal instinct, this desire to nest and preen in her? He was no bird at all but all he wanted was to cradle her and kiss her hair and keep her warm and safe. Ridiculous, what this little thing’s poisonous touch had done to him.  He swallowed and took a deep breath.

“After the war, I took the charge of guarding the Titans. The tattoo is meant to…remind me why.” And she reminded him, too; she was born in a generation of peace, born because he had kept all those monsters in the dark. It was worth it, he thought; all the nightmares, all the blood, all the scars: worth it, worth it, worth it, just so that she could grow up and come to this moment, with him on her mother’s meadowland.

“Oh.” She said, softly. “Oh. That’s…lovely, in its own way. And…sad.” She frowned. “Is that why you have to live off of Olympus?”

“In part.” Truth was, even if the Underworld wasn’t such a large responsibility, even if he didn’t have his own eternal charges to guard, he would live apart anyway. He’d always been too sharp a stone to be grasped without cutting anyone who tried to ribbons. He knew what he was and until this girl, he had never minded that fact.

“That makes you our grand protector, uncle. They should celebrate that more, up there.” She stroked his arm gently. “They barely mention you, and you keep us all safe.”

“I don’t mind.” He’d rather be forgotten, all things told.

“Well, I will thank you anyway. Thank you.” The compliment burned hot, and he was grateful she faced away from him, still rubbing her hand down his arm. This was surely too much contact and _yet_ what did he want but more of it? Pathetic, _old_ lech. He felt guiltier than he had felt taking any head in the war.

He didn’t move away.

“Will I have a tattoo someday, like you?”

“If you want one.” He did not dare to breathe as she squeezed his wrist. What would she take for her sigil? Vines or thorns or roses? A clover crown? Or was that something she had made just for him…? She leaned into him and he felt himself curl against her in instinct. He was alarmed at how much he liked it; his chest at her back, his nose over her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. He was aware, too, that her bottom was against his hips, and enjoyed the brief contact more than he should. Filthy, filthy old man.  Stars above, what was wrong with him? Why did he want this so much? A part of him he did not like did, in fact, notice how short her skirt was, how easy it would be to slip a hand underneath. Would she welcome that, his big hands on her little cunt? Would she part her legs and let him pleasure her? In the span of a few seconds, he could see it all too clearly, could imagine the soft noise of surprise she’d make and all the reedy little gasps and groans she’d make after. He shook his head, trying to dispel the admittedly potent fantasy. Didn’t matter. Wouldn’t happen. Stupid man. 

With a trembling hand, he let his free hand lay lightly on her side. Nothing sexual, no; just a small touch.

She didn’t move away.

She let him hold her for half a moment, which was to say half a moment too long; he bit back a noise of protest as she broke the embrace, turning around and promptly grabbing his chin.

“Uncle?”

“Hm?” Beautiful, he thought. She was so beautiful. He could stay here forever and regret not a moment of it, just having her touching him like this. And it was wrong, wrong, _wrong._  

“I want to go down,” she said, abruptly, and he felt his entire being crumble into sand as she said it. She had said it in the way that Persephone said everything important: casually, like it didn’t matter, but he could see from her eyes that it did. There was nothing joking in those bright brown eyes, sharp as knives and just as urgent. She wanted – well, she _wanted_.

He swallowed.

“No.” He shook his head. “Absolutely not.” She couldn’t see the Underworld. Not now, not ever. Once she saw it, she wouldn’t be coming to these little get-togethers, he knew that much. She was a lovely young woman. She had plenty of options. Seeing where he _lived_ , what he _did_ …No. She could romanticize it as some sort of grand knighthood but he knew what he was; a jailer, a dour judge in a land as dead as he was. She’d see it, she’d be frightened, and she’d find a reason to cozy up to one of her many siblings or cousins. And then her dear uncle Hades would be exactly what he should be: a distant uncle, rarely thought of and never so beloved as he was now. 

“Why?” She pursed her lips. “I can handle it. I’m not like _them_ , you know. I’m not going to insist you roll out the red carpet and drop everything for a state visit.” She waggled her finger at him, dangerously close to his lips.

No one visited the underworld, but he didn’t bother to correct her, because her finger landed right on his mouth and every instinct in his body wanted to lean into it and that _could not_ happen.

“I just want to see where you live, what you do.” She kept stroking his mouth and his entire body went rigid; she didn’t seem to notice. “I’m…fond of you. I’d like to know more…”

“It’s not Olympus. The Underworld is _dangerous_.” His hand pulled hers away finally, glaring at her with the usual fury he could always rely on when he was uncomfortable. “I’m a _King._ I can’t spend time runnin’ around protecting you.”

As if he could be cleaved from her side if she was in his realm. He couldn’t cleave himself from her side when she was sitting two feet away from him in hers and he damn well knew he should.

“I can handle myself, uncle.” Bold words, but he couldn’t help but doubt them.

“Can you? Against a titan?” He grabbed her wrist and roughly pulled it over her head, one eyebrow raised. She grunted in surprise, but he didn’t bend it far enough back to hurt her. “You couldn’t stop me if I wanted to hurt you now.”

“You wouldn’t.” There was no fear in her voice, and she glared at him. “You’re only trying to scare me and it won’t work. I ain’t gonna cause trouble. I just want…” She squeezed the hand he held above her head. “I want to know your realm. Know what you do. You know my domain. I want to know yours.”

“You’re gonna hate it.” He let go of her hand, scalded by the pleading look in her eyes. “It’s _cold._ ”

“So? I got a wrap, and I think you’ll loan me a heavier one if I ask.”

“It’s dark. No sun. Not a lot of light at all.” Just scraps of river-light, in fact.

“So?” She scoffed. “I’ll adjust. You come up into the light for me, why can’t I go into the darkness for you?”

Something wavered in him there, some ancient door in of him opening up with loudly creaking hinges. He slammed the interior door shut as fast as he could but it was too late; the door was swollen, stuck open in the humid heat of his insane desire.

“You’re going to hate it. A lively girl like you? There are no plants but Asphodel. _Nothing_ grows there. There’s…” He swallowed. “There’s nothing.” It was a grey, dull, dead realm. Like him. _Like him._

“There’s _you_.” She ran a hand through his hair and it was too much; he heard himself hiss out loud and jerked away on instinct. “I ain’t just plants and sunshine, and I would hope you know that. You’re…Please let me go. I – I want to go. I’m _meant_ to –“

“There’s no such thing as _meant_ to, _child_. Prophecy is a _joke_. We earn what we become.” He stood, brushed off his pants, and felt her follow, grab his shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off, but at the look in her eyes – iron-set, deadly serious – he backed off.

“Ain’t prophecy just…A feeling. A tug, you know? I want to go with you. I want…I _want_ …”

He sighed. This wasn’t her fault; it was his. Stupid old man, he’d given her ideas of something she couldn’t quite fathom and she’d gotten stuck on it. On _him_. All his fault, and what was worse was that he was somewhat happy for it, that _he_ was her focus, her drive. He was horrifically flattered and wanted nothing more than to whisper _yes, yes, stay with me_ , _follow me._ What was it the fates had said would come as a consequence of her following him? Winter? He wondered if that would be a child. He could think of it being nothing else. A child named Winter, toddling at his feet, he would like that, like that very much; perhaps the one he’d seen a flash of in his mind once, with her hair and his eyes and _stop stop stop._ These fantasies were pointless.

She would _never_ stay.

“You’re going to hate it.” He shrugged, trying to shrug off the turmoil with it and truthfully not managing to do so; it stuck to him, sticky with desperate fingers. “Don’t want you to be…afraid.” Afraid of him, he meant, but couldn’t bring himself to say.

“I won’t be.” Her face crumbled into a smile. “You’re gonna be there, ain'tcha? I won’t – I won’t tell ma, if you’re worried she’s gonna spank you.”

“Ain’t worried about your ma. You’re an adult, you do what you want,” he said, flatly. It was both true and not true – she had the body of the woman, could take _him_ as far as any physical mating, and he had thought _plenty_ about the mating…but she’d not had the ceremonies, did not have official duties. Was not, in the eyes of Olympus, fully capable of making her own decisions. And he should have listened to that, but then…when did the underworld ever rely on the decision making of Olympus? It was only his sister being protective of her little daughter, not wanting her to fall prey to the vipers up there. A noble if short-sighted goal.

She’d fallen for the viper underneath her heel instead. And that particular viper liked her too much to let her go.  He'd risk Demeter's swat for that. 

“Since I’m grown…I’ve decided. I’m going with you.” She smiled a wild, victorious symphony, and he wanted nothing so much as to sink his poison into her, to take her into his home and make her one of his possessions. To be a shade would be to lose her though, and instead, his hands hung, impotent and limp, in her arms.

“You won’t – You won’t like it.” He huffed, well aware it was a bad argument. He doubled down anyway. “You’re gonna _hate_ it.”

“We’ll see.” She grabbed him in a powerful hug, knocking the breath out of him as her hands tugged around his neck. “We’ll see. C’mon. Take me.”

Her half-lidded, dark eyes suggested he could _take_ her in more than one context. His heartbeat suggested an accord to the idea. “If you don’t…” She smiled, and there was nothing kind in it. “I’ll sneak down myself. _Surprise_ ya.”

 _Fates._ He couldn’t imagine a better surprise intruder, but he wasn’t about to spur her on with that. He tilted his head and sighed. Maybe it was right she should see it; right she should be afraid once she did. He did not want it to happen but…it was time. It would wound him grievously to see her be afraid of him, to see her cry for her mother and her home, but better to have gone there with his consent and control rather than sneak down and wind up hurting herself or, worse, encountering father…

“Alright. Fine.” He snapped. “You _will_ hate it, and I _did_ warn you, so let’s get it over with. It’s a long walk, so  you will have plenty of time to change your mind.”

She looked up at his face and he knew he must look cold, because she recoiled, removing her hands from his neck. But she didn’t say never mind, and she didn’t turn tail and run.

When he held out his hand for hers, she put hers right in his hands. When he opened up the steps to go down, she didn’t even flinch as the earth sealed shut behind them.

He didn’t talk to her for the first of several hours walk; part of him hoping that his silence would convince her to go back, part of him hoping that her silence meant she was unbothered by the strange new world he was marching her through. He glanced back at her and saw a mouth wholly knit in concentration; she was thinking, the little thing.

Of what, he could not fathom.

“You can turn back, if you want,” he offered; it was bound to happen sooner or later. He didn’t know why he bothered to offer though, because she shot him a miserable glare. Stubborn as a mule, this girl.

He found it oddly enchanting.

“Ain’t turnin’ back. Just don’t want to bowl into ya. Eyes ain’t used to the dark yet, but they’ll get there.” She put her hands on his back and walked on. He walked forward, slow and plodding, with his heart in his hands.

By the time they made it to the entrance of his lands, he’d almost convinced himself that she might, _might_ not hate it. She hadn’t complained about the prickly change in temperature, though he knew she may still. It would get colder yet. The ground was still warm from the sunshine it had still soaked in, but it would be even colder when night fell on this part of the underground and the little bit of warmth they had disappeared. Even from this minor change, it would be cold to Persephone, considerably colder than her ma's bright and sunny abode. He expected her to shiver and complain and make excuses, but she hadn’t done anything but shift a bit closer to him, walking down the steps. By the time they hit the wider caverns, with bits of light in the braziers he’d built for his own use thousands of years ago, she had not insisted on turning back. She had, instead, curled her hand around his back.

“Oh,” she said. He raised an eyebrow, taking in the dead ground, the wisps that scurried upon the shore at the presence of an unfamiliar goddess. Ugly land, perverted king. She’d ask to go home now. He was sure of it and braced for it. “Oh! This isn’t…so bad,” he said.

He snorted, not bothering to dignify that with an answer. He waited for a request to leave that did not come; he waited another moment, and then he pointed toward the river at the far edge of his side of the underworld, a distant shimmering he could barely see from here. “Lethe.”

“Lethe. River of forgetfulness.” She winked at him. “I’ve done my homework.” He turned her in the other direction and marched her down a dreary walkway, heading to a river they’d actually cross. They walked in mostly silence, and he thought of the feel of her hand in his. It felt…heavy. Weighty. Something was shifting, and he did not know if it was within himself, or if it was within her, or some invisible force between them. Despite the chill, his hand was sweaty; she did not comment on it, and did not withdraw from him.

“Styx,” he said as they reached the second river, his voice fuzzy with poisonous desire. She didn’t comment on it, smiling like a lamb he was leading to the slaughter. “We will cross here.”

“As you say.” She sounded outright placid; he looked at her as she took in the shoreline and found careful calm, and nothing else, on her face. He led her down the banks. He snapped his fingers for Charon, then instantly regretted it the second he saw the boatman, grinning like a maniac the second he took them in.  He remembered, too late, that he hadn’t bothered to remove the flower crown; he winced. He’d be hearing about that for the next good century or two.

“Mr. Hades finally brought down company, huh?” Charon’s grin was nothing short of lecherous, and he felt Persephone take a step back. He rolled his eyes.

“None of that, Charon. Persephone is Demeter’s daughter and…a friend.”

Both Charon and Persephone looked at him, each with one eyebrow up, and he scowled. “Just get on the boat.”

“I never thought I’d see the day lord Hades came down here in a flower crown …” He winked at Persephone. “Him gives ya that little lump of metal on your wrist?”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled, but was clearly ill at ease. Hades gave the boatman a death glare, which, given that he was a death god, was plenty potent. If, he thought, somewhat ruined by Persephone grasping at his hand for comfort.

But he certainly didn’t mind that, did he? Filthy old lecher; he clasped it gladly.

With his free hand, he all but threw two coins at Charon, who smiled even larger. He ignored the jackanape, cleared his throat and pointed out the sights along the way — or what passed for them, this far under the ground. Persephone’s face tilted up gradually and he swallowed. She was looking homeward. She was going to go. This had been foolish, as he knew it would be. She opened her mouth, and he watched with a sinking heart even knowing she was right to want to do so. He withdrew his hand from hers.

“Where’s your house?” She asked, a soft frown on her face.

Charon’s expression made him very glad she was looking up; he nudged Charon furiously with his elbow. _Don’t say a damned word._

“On the other side of the river.” He nervously touched her shoulder – a soft touch, but friendly, nothing inappropriate about it beyond the fact that his niece was sitting in a boat, underground, with _him_. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

“Okay.” She reclaimed his hand, squeezing it in her own, and gave him a little smile that made his heart flutter. “It’s not so bad you know.” She flashed an animated smile at Charon that made him nearly buckle at the knees. “Uncle is always talkin’ up what a scary place is, but I think he’s just worried the rest of us’ll move in.” She wiggled a little closer to him, cast a look that he couldn’t quite place. In the distance, Charon snorted; it sounded faint compared to the pounding of blood in his ears. This had been a mistake. _Such_ a mistake. He was filled to the brim with poison and if she so much as brushed her lips against him, he would take her, claim her, _mate_ her, Charon and Charon’s creaky boat be damned! He fell into a deep frown. What was she doing to him?!? He took a deep breath to calm himself.

“It feels…Quiet.” She squeezed his hand again. “Homey.”

He released the breath with a ragged sigh and Charon and the girl both looked at him oddly. He was saved the indignity of having to respond by the gentle rock of the boat upon the shore; to his surprise, Persephone hoped out first onto the shores of the Styx, splashing in the slim echoes of Styx's waves. He did not fear her touching it; she was a goddess and wouldn’t be harmed by Styx, not for such a minor infraction. But he did fear how he felt, seeing the splash of wet water upon her ankles.

They were…quite slim. Kissable. Very kissable. Stars above, he wanted to drag her to the sand, throw her down with her legs over his shoulders and _fuck,_ why?! He couldn’t… He couldn’t do this. Why this unending desire? Why now? Why _her?_

“She’s a nice one,” Charon said low as he brushed against the man, standing up on unsteady legs. “See why you visit.”

“Enough.” He had enough turmoil without Charon whispering in his ear.

“She’s above your grade, boss,” Charon wheezed. “Way above.”

“I’m aware,” he sniped, and jumped off the boat, grabbing the girl’s hand and pulling her further, a murderous glance at Charon his only goodbye. “This way.”

She seemed content to follow him as he grunted through monosyllabic descriptions of the lakeside. Her hand didn’t leave his, tapping out time’s rhythm as he passed several hours taking her the long way around, keeping her by the riverside as one gentle river faded to another.

The river of fire caught her attention as soon as they got close and he watched with sinking alarm as she went to the shoreline. The Phlegethon lit her in gruesome consideration of the large wall, the ebony door.

And what lay beyond.

He put his hand on her shoulder and told himself it was for her protection. “Don’t go in there. Ever.”

She nodded, but her eyes looked as if Tartarus was nothing but the latest challenge. He could feel it, could see her already trying to figure out a way to get around the edict. Little rebel. He squeezed her shoulder tight enough for her to cry out in surprise. He glared at her. “ _Never_.”

“I could handle it.” Youthful disdain filled her little frame and nothing on earth or under it could stop his hands from clinging tight to her. For her protection, he told himself. He knew damn well it was a lie.

“You don’t have to. It’s my job.” He leaned forward and she mirrored the look, her eyes soft. She leaned forward more, lips just oh so slightly open…he pulled back. “Please. _Never_. For me.”

“Mmmmm.” She put her finger on her mouth and smiled. “Well, alright. I suppose your request is worth my obedience. But _only_ because it's you. You can be the wall between me and your monsters, noble Hades.”

She bowed in the most sarcastic bow he’d ever seen.

“Well I see my reputation precedes me,” he muttered, flames licking up the side of his face – and not from Tartarus. He stormed off a few feet before remembering he shouldn’t leave her there, and turned back, only to see her running to keep up with him.

“Your realm is so much larger than I thought.” She huffed, changing topics as he slowed his pace so she could keep up with him. “Must you cross all this every time you visit me?”

“There are shortcuts. This is the scenic route,” he said. That it was not so much shorter than this route, he kept to himself. He didn’t mind. He’d travel further to hold her little hand. “Take days to see it all.”

“Mm.” She smiled. They walked slowly, agonizingly slowly through the shoreline. Shades of his mortal charges shivered further afield; they wouldn’t come near her. Always skittish when they’d gotten to this point, where only instinct remained.

”Are those shades?”

“Yes.” She frowned, seemingly troubled by the dead. He stood a little straighter, waited for her to ask to go back.

“Why won’t they come near us? They seem…like, well, like ghosts.” She smiled sadly. He knew what she meant. The shades moved only on the lowest of levels. After a few months, their human memories slid away, made room for a new life. The groups this close to the water were intuitively readying their souls for the Lethe. He would take that group down soon. Perhaps tomorrow. “Are they always…?”

“No. It’s…a process.” He grabbed her hand, pulled her towards the castle in the foolish hope of distracting her. He wanted her to know his home, he wanted her to run away. He didn’t know what in the gods damned hells he held that he wanted, except _her_. Her, just _her_ , just the mad little woman that was too young for him, holding onto his hand and squeezing it. Infernal woman! He had to let her go but all he wanted was to lay her in his fields. Why her? He couldn’t figure it out. She shivered in the breeze coming off his now ice-cold rivers; the earth above was growing colder now…So. She’d stayed past the nightfall above. Longer than he would have thought.

“Come,” he said, grabbing her and pulling her forward to his home. “Come.”

He didn’t know what he’d show her when he got there. But he could at least provide a place to get her warm. And once he got her nicely warmed up, he’d take her home, her curiosity sated and her interest no doubt abated. She’d go up and preen with Hermes or Athena or some other little niece or nephew, and dear old uncle hades would just sulk in his hole in the ground. He’d get over it.

He’d long gotten over being abandoned by every other member of his family, after all. This last betrayal…it would not hurt so much, that the little one would never belong down here. _Never_.

Except that it somehow already _did_.

He pulled her up the hill into the Asphodel Fields, such as they were. It was spartan for anything called fields, he knew. Grey and white asphodel and grey roots; nothing compared to the majesty of what she had above.

She opened her palms and waved her fingers over the path; he pretended not to notice as even this far down under the ground, asphodel shot out a good foot in every direction. Blossoming, blossoming, she was making everything blossom, even the dead. Even _him_. He swallowed and wished…wished things were different. Since her powers worked down here, would… if things were different, if she were just a bit older…would she stay?

Foolish thought. _No_. It changed nothing. He looked away, frowned. Why? Why this girl? Why did he have this _ridiculous_ fixation? She flexed her palms and sent roots going in every direction through the fields and he swallowed the treacherous urge to throw her on top of the roots she was shifting to press ever onwards, to take her in that writhing cacophony. He should _never_ have entertained this. Having her here was…was making his obsession worse.

She had to go.

He’d _make_ her go. He opened his mouth to tell her he’d changed his mind and he was taking her home. The words in his mouth died as soon as he looked at her; she smiled so brightly, she rendered him wholly dumb.

“I hope you don’t mind. They were calling…well, calling for me.” She looked away and so did he, at the thought that anything in this realm could call to her. This realm had certainly _not_ called to him. Ever. But how could he be jealous when he found her just as irresistible as the ground did? How could he blame the land for wanting to grow under her touch? Every glancing blow from her beguiling hands infected him with more ardour.

Dangerous, dangerous woman.

His home came into view and he watched her response carefully; he’d reconfigured it several times to match what mortals would expect of such a place. She looked at the black ebony stone, the deep fires, and he grimaced.

He’d been proud of it not twenty minutes ago. Now he felt foolish, entirely because of her puzzled expression.

“Your house is uh…oh.” She said softly. “It's quite different from ma’s.” She frowned. “More like pa's.”

And therein, he suspected, was the issue. Zeus, having driven two sisters to neuroticism and the third to eternal virginity, was now ruining his brother’s relationships by proxy. Not that this was that kind of relationship.

“I ain’t your pa,” he muttered. “But I _am_ a king.”

“I know you are.” She smiled thinly. “And I know you ain’t like him, too. Don’t think I’d like you so much if you was, truthfully. I can say that down here, right?” She glanced around as if Zeus would bother to send spies down below.

“Down here?” he smiled. “You can say whatever the hell you want.”

She smiled back and leaned into him as he took her through the doorway, and he let his hand brush her shoulder for a moment too long as he swept her inwards. Her hand found his like it was the most natural thing in the world and he told himself he took it simply to guide her into the reception room. A lie. He wouldn’t tell her she was the first guest he’d had in centuries. A lie by omission.

“Personal apartment’s this way,” he said, jerking her into the doorway. He led her to one of the couches, then flickered his palm forward, warming the stones in his hearth until the magnesium sparked and the thinner sticks above burst into flame.

“Never seen someone light a fire like that,” she said. She sounded a little unsure. He looked down at her, a new quandary barreling into his mind. Where should he sit? His first instinct was to sit in one of the many other couches, but then she’d patted the seat near her, and before he could quite fathom how effortlessly she’d solved it, his legs moved to sit next to her.

She wiggled until she was tucked under his arm, and it happened so fast he was not quite sure of them had drawn his arm over her back. She smiled up at him, beatific and gentle and oh-so-young. And the thoughts on his mind when he saw that smile were so abjectly filthy he felt _ashamed_ of himself.

“Your realm is fascinating,” she said. Small talk, innocent, probably a white lie; it made him nearly lose himself in happiness, in belonging. _Why don't you stay?_ He wanted to ask. Ridiculous question. Ridiculous, ridiculous! Why not pull out ink and papyrus and give her little drawings if he was going to be such a moony child?! Maybe he could strum a badly strung guitar and warble at her, why not commit to the full, ludicrous spectacle? She was driving him  _insane._

“The caves, the fields. The lakes!” She grinned. Grinned, like what she was describing was worth anything to a goddess who saw caves, fields, and lakes every damn day she wanted to, in splendor far more golden than his sparse homeland.

“Well, perhaps a pity that as an immortal, you'll never live here.” He’d meant it as a gentle tease, but it came out bitter. Silence reigned for half a second and he debated trying to apologize, but the words stuck in his throat, the vulnerability leaving his throat sticky from disuse.

She caught herself first, shook off the awkwardness with a little smile. She shifted, moving in a blink of an eye. He felt her leg shift over his hips and blinked, fuzzyheaded, as she swung into her lap, straddling him. She kept herself elevated – thank the gods above, he did not think he could take her sitting on him – but her eyes promised something that he knew would doom them both.

“Don’t be like that,” she cooed, one finger teasingly tapping his chin. “Might decide after tomorrow that I like it so much I’ll just stay here forever.”

“I…” He looked at her. This was _too_ much contact. He needed to throw her off. _Now_. His hands went to his hips but rooted there, stubborn. He replayed her words in his mind, grasped something he’d missed. “…Tomorrow?!” He willed his hands to move her; they shook, but no more than that.

“I told ya, nothin' to do all week. Figured I’d stay a few days.” She laughed, but not in the sweet and childish way she had done hours earlier, under the tree. This was something more adult, something huffier and darker and so, so alluring. “I'm _all_ yours.”

She leaned forward, cupped his big head in her small hands. “Can I tell you a secret, Hades?”

He was mostly frozen under her fingertips, his heart hammering so loud he was sure the little minx heard it. Somehow, he found the strength to nod and she smiled, wide and sweet.

“When we went through your fields, the roots there…they talked to me. _Stay, stay,_ _blossom, spread, root_ ; over and over _._ ” She giggled. “And you know, I think I would quite like to. This place feels…right. It’s quiet and you’re…Well, you feel…right.” She laughed awkwardly as if she was telling some grand joke, but he saw the deadly earnestness in those bright brown eyes. “You’re just what I want.”

She leaned in just half a beat too close, and he felt what she was going to do seconds before her lips brushed his. He didn’t turn his head. He should have, he thought, but he froze, the old pervert in him holding him hostage. He clung tight to her hips instead, and whimpered as she pressed her lips to his.

It was a _damned_ good kiss. He leaned into it; her mouth on him was a soft and gentle thing, the touch so light that it somehow felt like a feather’s touch and yet, all the same, it fell on him, heavy as stone.

He tugged her head down as he broke the kiss, a bolt of electricity surging through him. He held her chin and guided her into their second kiss, a little harder, more searing; her lips mimed his own and she was kissing him hard. He didn’t deserve this, shouldn’t do this…and yet couldn’t stop himself. Her legs rooted themselves on either side of him as she sat down on his lap proper; he bucked against her in response. She was heavy, on his lap and _willing_. It would take no effort at all to flip her underneath him and give her a proper education in this art, but he still had enough sense to stop himself from going that far. Her hands wrapped tight around his head, as if she knew and was trying to make him break his famed control; she was close to succeeding. Too close. He made an odd noise as she chased his lips in an intricate dance, so odd a noise it took a minute before he could place it as coming out of his mouth. It was a broken noise, a wild wail muted only by her lips, and she pulled back.

But it was too late.

“Is…is this alright?” she bit her lip. Her cheeks were flushed a golden pink from the ichor humming through her, and her gently puffing breath told him she’d enjoyed those kisses as much as he had. Poisonous, Poisonous to them both, this madness. “I’m sorry if…if I’m bad. I’ve never kissed before. You’re my first.”

He closed his eyes, guilt swelling around his heart. He _never_ should have taken her first kiss from her; he wasn’t a boy, he was a man. She should have enjoyed a fumbling first kiss with Hermes or Apollo or Athena, someone on whom she held an equal level. Now she’d gone and given it away to nothing but a creepily fixated uncle…who wanted nothing more than _more_. That little kiss hadn’t satisfied him; it had only made the roots of his fixation run deeper. He needed to get rid of her. He wanted her to stay. He had – he had to do something.

“Uncle…?” She sounded uncertain now, sad. “Please talk to me, I – 'm sorry if I’ve made things awkward. I thought…Oh, was I wretched?”

His hands finally found the will to move. He opened his eyes and looked at her beautiful face. She was staring at him, close to tears now; he put his hands on either side of her face and smiled sadly at her. “It was a very good kiss, Persephone.”

She looked confused. “Why then, did you…?”

“Because I shouldn’t have done that.” He grabbed her and tucked her head under his chin. It would be easier to do what had to be done if he didn’t have to look at her beautiful little eyes. “I’m…do you know hold old I am?”

She snorted. “Younger than my ma.”

“Older than your father. A _lot_ older than you, girl. _Thousands_ of years older. You deserve someone who ain’t so creaky.”

“Maybe I like creaky,” she mumbled. He chuckled.

“You think you do, but you ain’t old enough to know what you want long-term just yet.” She grumbled into his throat and he shook his head. “And I’m… I’m only interested in bein' a long-term man, little one. Just how I am.”

She pulled her head out and raised an eyebrow. “Ain’t like that. What I feel is…” She huffed an angry little chuckle. “You know how long I’ve wanted _you_? Its…It’s _always_ been _you_.” She growled at each little _you._ It wasn’t helping him stick with his principles.

“You should go out, have your fun with some spring-time child first.” He felt like a pathetic idiot. Who was he trying to let down gently, her or him? He patted her shoulder in awkward comfort and hoped it helped, though it only reminded him of how nicely his hand fit over her back. “If you decide I’m what you want after that, well…I’ll be here.”  

“I’m here _now_ ,” she whispered. “Please? Aint ya…ain’t ya interested?”

“You _know_ I am.” He chuckled awkwardly, but the second it left his lips, he realized it would have been kinder to lie. She shook off his grip and reoriented herself ‘til they were face to face.

Coward that he was, he looked away. Didn’t seem to bother her, because the next thing she did was breath heavy on his ear.

“Hades...I…I want you to be my first – no, my only…” She whispered, and she very politely ignored how he gasped in response; half of him wanted to take that from her _now_ , even if the more sensible half knew more than anything that he should wait. That was a gift given with long term consequences and he _had_ to be careful with her. “…I ain’t gonna go lay down in the dirt with Hermes or Apollo just so I can get with you without you feeling right guilty about it. I ain’t that old, that’s true, but I’m old enough to know what I want.”

“Don’t have to be Hermes or Apollo,” he sputtered. “Why not Athena? Artemis?”

“Vestal virgins. Not into that.”

“Ares?”

“Don’t like dumb neither.”

“Hephaestus?” He said, trying already to think of more siblings to throw at her. Cowardly old man.

“Already married and I ain’t into pokin’ that kind of bee’s nest.”

“To who?” He raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t been that sure on the ages of Zeus’ spawn, but he remembered Hephaestus being a bit younger than Persephone, if only by a few weeks at most. She’d been born early, he remembered; a tiny little squalling thing in a blanket. A tiny little thing he’d held once. Stars above. What a pervert he was! He’d held her as a _baby._ He shook his head.  He needed to be calm, to find a place of clarity. He only felt her weight upon his lap. 

“Aphrodite.” He winced for the poor boy; Aphrodite tended to be as free as a honeybee as far as to who she chose to pollinate with. Persephone rolled her eyes.  “Pa says if he can’t restrain her as his wife, he won’t last as a leader, so he gotta yolk her to prove he can. But it isn’t like Aphrodite is happy about it and truth told, Heph aint neither.”

“Imagine not.” He scoffed. He didn’t even get an invitation to that one. His notoriety around Olympus must have finally faded…that, or perhaps Zeus had simply decided he had been gone long enough to no longer bother with niceties. It was probably a smart decision on his part, given that Hades would have told him marrying two gods together as a test was – well, little better than a joke. He wouldn’t doubt this being the means to get Hephaestus out of the line of succession. Zeus had been wanting to clear the decks for third-born Athena for a while, according to Persephone; Persephone, well…she would be a thornier problem as far as removing her from the line. For Zeus and him both.

“See? Ain’t no other. Not for me.”

He opened his mouth to argue the point, but she put a hand on his mouth and silenced him in one bittersweet smile.

“You missin’ the point, anyway. Ain’t about the _who,_ per se. It’s about the _what_ , as in _what I want_. I don’t…I don’t want anyone else. You said you thought me grown, and I don’t see why you’re givin’ me this guff if that’s how you feel. Ain’t like I’m fourteen and askin’ you to crawl your hand up my skirts at a family dinner. Ain’t like I started feelin’ this way just now. Ain’t like _you_ started makin’ mooneyes at me today, _either_. It’s…its been a long time comin' and it…don’t it feel right to you, us bein’ an _us_?” She ran her fingers down his chest in a move that nearly snapped every bit of the finely honed control he held like a twig. “Don’t it feel so natural?”

“Even so.” He cleared his throat. This was a mistake, a colossal mistake. He wanted to get up and tell her to leave, to march her back up to her homeland and leave her cryin’ upon her meadow. He wanted, too, to kiss her senseless and pull open her dress, throw her down and bury his roots inside her until they fused together in one, glorious moment. He ran a hand down her long, muscular arm and was both rewarded with and, simultaneously, despaired over a shiver that passed through her from the simplest of touches. “I…I take the long view, darlin’. Goin’ down this road is… You really wanna stay buried underground? Not much clover here for crowns. Not many daisies to grow. No life for a young nature goddess like yourself.”

He’d certainly resented being cast down here. No need to throw her down into it, that’s why this fixation was so divinely stupid. She wasn’t going to stay, _couldn’t_ stay, and it didn’t matter that the hands on his chest were the most beautiful thing he’d ever felt in his entire life. To have her one night and not the next would be the worst thing he’d ever felt in his life, and as bad as it was to suffer never having her, it was easier than having her and losing her.

“You’re as bad as pa in your speeches.” She rolled her eyes, her voice slipping into a huskier growl. “I ain’t just flowers, I’m _nature_. You wanna talk natural order, natural ways? If I was a mortal, I’d be married now, probably with one or two young’uns aside, to a man twice as old as me. That’s natural. My brothers already got several babies, all of ‘em but Heph and Heph is married to a woman older than _ma_ and _you_ and _me_ put all together in a row! That’s natural. Some of my half-sisters been down in the fields too, if they ain’t like auntie Hes.  That's natural, too! They’re all younger than me, and they got lovers and babies all their own. Don’t see why I shouldn’t. Not when you and I want — what we both want. It’s natural. It’s _right_.” She grabbed his cheek. One of her nimble little fingers went to his chin and tilted his head up. He had only to lean just slightly forward to close the distance between him; every instinct within him wanted to. He stayed still.

“I don’t do this.” He heard the thick briars in his voice and winced. “I _don’t_. I never intended—” What could he say to exculpate himself? He hadn’t intended to seduce her? Half of him had wanted that from the moment he saw her. He wanted. He wanted _very badly_. He’d all but fallen in love with her. That he didn’t make a habit of it seemed…pointless. The damage had been done.

“I know.” She pressed her little forehead to his like she had all the damn answers in there, and for a moment, he dared to believe she did. “Never happened to me, neither, til I saw you in that garden lookin’ at me the way you were.”

“You asked me to kiss you,” he murmured; he was falling, falling too fast, and she was going to hurt him and hurt him bad when she chose to go and even knowing that he clung to her, hands gripping her shoulders like she was the only thing he could hold to. Foolish, foolish man. 

“You still owe me for that, too,” she said. “I’m calling to collect. Kiss me. _Please_.”

He felt his control wash away like souls in the Lethe; blood roared in his ears as he leaned down and caught her lips with his own. Bolder now, she moaned and pressed back against his mouth as he pressed his poisonous touch into her. His hands groped blindly, one hand clumsily pulling her waist tight and close and the other on her cheek. Her arms rose to capture his neck.

“Beguiling vixen,” he muttered. “Is this truly what you want of me?”

“Gods, yes.” She captured his mouth again, then again. So sweet, oh, her mouth was _so_ sweet. He held her chin and gently stroked her mouth open, all but shoved his tongue inside and felt her whimper in response. Her hand pulled tight on his head and she moved against him, writhing against him. She was trying to imitate him in kissing, fighting him back toward his own mouth and he let her. She was getting better at it every swipe, every moment. One of her bold hands gently tugged at his _chiton_ , trying to pull it down; he stopped her, gently pulling her hand away.

“Why do you keep stopping?” There was an edge of annoyance to her voice and he chuckled; he pressed a soft and more chaste kiss to her mouth in hope of assuaging her anger.

“Not that,” he said softly. “Not yet. Let’s go slow.” He wasn’t going to take all her firsts in one day; would be cruel to shackle her to him eternally, if they — if they did create Winter. If that was going to follow, it would follow _later._

“Ain’t good at slow.” She growled, and then she was on him again, mouth sliding on top of his; he took back control, flipping her over underneath him. She yelped for half a second as he laid her half-down, his heavier body pressing her deeper into the couch. Her smaller leg slid over his on instinct and he all but whimpered into her neck, pressing a scalding trio of kisses there before going back to her lips.

“Only way I go,” He muttered; he was certain she’d want to go before morning came but — he closed his eyes and pressed his lips harder to hers. He’d enjoy the moment with her. He’d already taken her first kiss; taking more seemed not so much worse that he couldn’t live with it. She pulled back for a moment, looked at him with such a strange ocean of emotion in her young eyes.

“Ok. Slow. _Right_. You let me stay?” she whispered, barely getting the words out before he kissed her again; chaste kisses yet nothing chaste about them, heady with promises of things he wasn’t quite ready to admit to just yet but oh, he shivered as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Stay,  stay,” he whimpered against her lips, even then knowing it was unfair to ask; even then, knowing that it would _never_ happen.

“I will, I — ah, I will,” she whispered. He bent his head, pressing kisses onto her cheeks and her ears and listening to her whimper softly underneath him. “I will,” she whispered, fervent as a prayer, though he wasn’t sure if she was sayin’ it for her sake or his.

Either way, as the fire crackled and ebbed into darkness, he allowed himself to hope as he kissed her senseless that maybe, just maybe, she somehow would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm still behind on answering reviews and I'm sorry for that! This fic kept growing and growing in re-writes and it wound up taking a lot of my free time which has been in very short supply! I've got a lot of replies I owe (and more than one amazing looking Hades and Seph fic to read and comment on!) and I'm hoping I'll finally catch up on that this week. I really do appreciate all feedback so thank you all for leaving reviews even if I am slow to reply. <3 
> 
> Next time: He brings her home.
> 
> Mythology Notes:
> 
> Damocles' Overture - Damocles was a mortal man who wished to be king and commented so to Dionysius, his king. Dionysius allowed him to be king for a day, but only with the proviso that he sit under a sword held up only by a horse-hair thread. The story is meant to communicate that while a King has great privileges, power, and fortune, they are also exposed to great danger. 
> 
> Helios - the Titan god of the Sun, who drove it in a chariot across the sky. Later replaced by Apollo.
> 
> (Auntie) Hes(tia) - Hades' eldest sister and Persephone's aunt. Goddess of the home and the hearth, she took an eternal vow to remain a virgin, and some goddesses followed in her footsteps there, also swearing to remain virgins.
> 
> Ares - God of War, and Persephone's half-brother. 
> 
> Artemis - Goddess of the hunt, and Persephone's half-sister. She took a vow of chastity, like Hestia.
> 
> Persephone's pa - Zeus, the big boss of Olympus and ruler of all the Gods. He's been a pretty distant dad to most of his kids, and Seph, well, she's got some issues over it. Hades' youngest brother.
> 
> Hera - Hades' sister and Persephone's aunt and step-mother. Hera doesn't take too well to Persephone, due to her being older than any of her own children, in this fic universe.
> 
> Hades' childhood - Pretty much the worst. Literally trapped with all his siblings that weren't Zeus, and forced to survive with them. When they were free, they wound up fighting in a war called the Titanomachy. Hades has a lot of scars from that, both physical and emotional. Most of his brothers and sisters do, too.
> 
> Clover flowers - Persephone makes Hades a crown of these distinctive white and pink blossoms. In the language of flowers, they're said to mean _think of me_ ; little does Persephone know he pretty much can't stop thinking about her.
> 
> ichor - Gods' blood. I've read it's meant to be golden colored before but for the life of me I can't find the source anymore. 
> 
> Courtship gifts - in Ancient Athens, it was customary for prospective suitors to give their wives (or wives' families) gifts. One story by Nonnus mentions that several gods gave Persephone different gifts, though he does not mention what, if anything, Haides gave her!
> 
> (Uncle) Posie/Poseidon - Hades' younger brother and Persephone's uncle. Also the father of her half-brother through Demeter, Arion. Closer to Persephone than her own father in this fic universe. Married to Amphitrite, a sea nymph, but also has romances with many, many others.
> 
> Olympus - the high mountaintop where Zeus and most of the Gods live. In this universe, Hades, Persephone, Demeter, Maia (Hermes' mom), and Hermes prove notable exceptions, preferring the mortal realm or the underworld.
> 
> Titan - the generation of gods before the Olympians; led by Cronus, Hades' father. A few defected to the Olympian side, but most are locked up in Tartarus, under Hades' careful lock and key.
> 
> Charon - Hades' employee and a distant cousin to him and Persephone both. Spends most of his time rowing souls across the Styx for a coin, though in later years in this fic universe he will get to rest his arms a bit as his boat gets upgraded to the train.
> 
> Lethe, Styx, Phlegethon - Three of the rivers of the underworld. 
> 
> Tartarus - Where uncommonly bad people go, and where most Titans live.
> 
> Athena - Persephone's half-sister and Hades' niece, goddess of strategy and war, probably Zeus' favorite of his brood. A friend of Persephone's, but sometimes a rival, too.
> 
> Apollo - Persephone's half-brother and Hades' nephew. Eventually, the God of the Sun in this universe, though not yet. 
> 
> Asphodel fields - Hades proper, where most dead souls go that are not uncommonly good nor uncommonly bad. Asphodel is a type of flower and the food of the dead. Please do not eat it if you encounter it in the wild, it's....not great for living people. 
> 
> Hephaestus - Persephone's half-brother and Hades' nephew. In this universe, the oldest of Hera and Zeus' children. Total mama's boy. Married to Aphrodite.
> 
> Aphrodite - Goddess of love and daughter of Uranus, in the loosest sense (came into being when he was castrated and his semen hit the ocean - GREEK MYTHOLOGY IS SO WEIRD).
> 
> chiton - Ancient Greek clothing, worn by women and men.


	8. Bittersweet [7. “I’ve missed you” kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Come and say hello to your husband.” There was an edge to his words there, but she ignored it._
> 
>  
> 
> _“Oh, hi there,” she said with a smile, diffusing the ticking bomb that had been lurking for the past half-hour, ever since he had shown up a week early with his hand out, offering to take her home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a ride home is a complicated thing. But when are they ever not?
> 
> Set about a decade before Hadestown. 
> 
> Rating: E
> 
> Warning(s): Explicit sex in this one

Hades waited exactly as long as it took for the train door to close completely before picking her up, quite literally, and putting her on his lap. Her luggage clattered onto the ground; she bent to grab it, toss the hastily-packed suitcases under the seat, but he wouldn’t let her. “Leave it,” he whispered. His hands curled around her, like a seat belt. Somehow, she suspected safety was the last thing on his mind. “Come and say hello to your husband instead.”

There was an edge to his words there, but she ignored it.

“Oh, hi there,” she said with a smile, diffusing the ticking bomb that had been lurking for the past half-hour, ever since he had shown up a week early with his hand out, offering to take her home. His hands curled around her hips and hers wound around his neck. She took her time to look at him for a moment, her first look in the last six months; she pulled the silly sunglasses off and he looked at her, his eyes full of mad love. Overwhelming love, the sort that made her feel guilty for being annoyed that he was a damn bit early and he knew it and she knew it too. She saw the loneliness that ate away at him, and knew it was her fault. He’d never asked for a part-time wife, and she’d never thought she would be one, and yet — here they were. Part-timers.

“Hey,” he said, soft. He leaned forward and kissed her, soft **and** sweet. In response, she pressed up against him, tight enough to practically meld herself to his skin. “I missed you.”

“I know.” She traced his nose with her own, looked down so he wouldn’t see the sadness on her face. She hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye to ma this time; he’d been an entire week early and she’d thought, well…they’d have more time. Ma would forgive her, but next year, she’d have more questions from ma about Hades, more questions about why he was comin’ early, more questions — period. And every year he got a little earlier, and every year ma’s eyes grew a little dimmer. She was running out of excuses for him – and he had to know that.

Maybe he didn’t care anymore, what her ma thought of him. Maybe he didn’t care what Persephone thought of it neither, ‘bout always bein’ eternally trapped between him and her. It made her sad; sad that he’d given up ever quite makin’ things right, but then – it had been hundreds of thousands of years since they’d started this little custody arrangement. And she’d told him it was temporary long ago, but, well...how was she to know the fates would hear her and laugh at all her plans? She had thought all they’d needed was to just wait for a little baby to come along; mama would forgive, for that, and an heir would give them some breathing room, would give them someone to help cover the seasons when they were grown, if they wanted to. But no little babies had come to them, and every attempt had…well, it hadn’t worked out. And them? Well, him and her, they were stuck in the middle. Just like they’d always been and always would be. Wasn’t so bad, she thought, for her; she loved mama and him both, and six months on either side suited her just fine.

But it was clearly hellish for him.

As if he knew she was feeling a bit sour — maybe he did, he was usually a sharp one when it came to reading her moods — he grabbed her hand, pressed it to his mouth in a courtly gesture that made her insides flare hot. She wasn’t _sorry_ , exactly, that he picked her up early; she did love him. She did.  She squeezed his free hand and he squeezed back.

“You miss me, too?” He asked, and she caught the slight quiver in that rock-deep voice. She sighed. _Her man_. He was as thick as his brothers, sometimes. How could he doubt it? She _always_ missed him when they were apart. The fact that she kept comin’ back, year after year, thousands of years — weren’t that proof enough of her love?

Evidently not, because she could tell from his deep stare that he needed her to answer it.

She smiled and nodded; “ _mmhmm_ ,” she murmured, and then she captured his mouth in a kiss. He whimpered, and her heart broke a bit at that; every damn year, he was like this. _Needy_. She grabbed his temples as she deepened the kiss, willing him to get it through his _thick_ skull – she was always missin’ him when they were apart. Always. Didn’t mean she was gonna run down all of creation to get him a little early, ‘cause _one of them_ had to have respect for the universal laws, but she damn well understood why he was like this.

He pressed back against the kiss, both his hands moving to grab her ass and bring her more into contact with a hard-on that was well and truly on its way to cutting off his blood supply to his head. He wasn’t as sex-crazed as his brothers, but she felt bad that six months for him felt just as long as it did for her. It wasn’t exactly _easy_ for either of them to sneak off for a little summer lovin’, not with ma around.

And this year had admittedly been awful for that. He’d never been up at a time when she could break away to … _entertain_ a while, and the human’s crops were only growing more demanding as the earth grew more people and Hades grew more impatient, and ma — well, ma was getting tired of having to do Persephone’s share when he popped up, and didn’t mind telling him so…which tended to kill the mood entirely. Even pickin’ her up early, it had been a full five _months_ and three _weeks_ of enforced celibacy, and that, she had a feeling, was going to end, right about now.

“I missed you so damned much,” he said, honest now; there was a vulnerability in his eyes that made her feel even guiltier, but the thought of the guilt was quickly evaporated by his hands gliding and sliding under her skirt. “Is this alright—?”

A loaded question, but she knew what he meant. And worse, knew he was only asking about him touching her; knew, too, that that was _not_ the meaning he should have cared about. Him showin’ up early was a lot bigger problem than him makin’ _her_ come early. She looked at him and he swallowed, still a nervous man deep down inside, and her annoyance melted in a puddle of soft affection. She did love him. She _did_ , and maybe if she kept reminding herself of that, it would be enough.

“Yeah. We’re _married_ , Hades…” She huffed, smiling despite her melancholy. “Think ya can assume ya got a standing invitation at this point.”

“Hm.” He leaned forward, his fingers slipping straight to the edge of her panties. “Well, a gentleman asks…”

She snorted. “You a gentleman now?”

“I always was,” he murmured, with mock indignity; his fingers slid lower, past the cotton and to touching her directly. If she’d known he was coming, she would have worn one of the pairs he _really_ liked — but since she had no time to prepare, he got white cotton and slightly hairy legs.

The painful-looking tent in his pants suggested he would happily endure them. Hades…She sighed. He was just…impossible. She loved an impossible man. Tender and sweet, and bitter and cold, all in one handsome package. He had made an effort to look nice for her and she did appreciate it; the suit-jacket nice and crisp, the shirt one of her favorites: the new, soft satin one that she liked to glide her fingers against. She kissed his neck as her hands slithered down the silky material; he sucked in a harsh breath as her fingers traveled down his stomach. His finger traced a familiar route around her slit; low and then high, carressin’ her button for just a moment before divin’ anywhere else, distractin’ her.

“Lock the doors,” she whispered against his ear. She’d talk to him about sending her back to ma and why he couldn’t come so early, but well – first, she’d make him _come_ early, because it was obvious he didn’t have a mind for much else at the moment.

“Oh,” he said; his voice sounded nothing but relieved. He raised the hand that wasn’t going to town teasin’ her and snapped his fingers; she heard the locks clicking shut, one on each end of the car. The shades on the windows each slowly rolled down, and she’d laughed when he’d put those metal sunshades on _their_ old car but now, well…she didn’t mind. They had their uses.

In the slightly darker light (it would get darker, she knew, the closer they came to home), she kissed him. He hummed happily against her mouth and it almost hurt to see him like this; see how happy he was to have her in his arms, how happy just kissin’ her made him feel. Her hand went for his belt and he hissed.

“Sensitive,” she whispered, a smile on her face.

“Five months!” he bit back; there was a slight edge to it, and she rolled her eyes. It wasn’t easy for her, either! She pulled his hands away and moved off his lap to the seat next to him so she could have easier access, and ignored the grumpy little noise he made in response. It would have been easier if she could get on her knees, but that wasn’t really possible here. Still, trapped in the seat next to him, she was nothing if not determined. Ain’t nothin’ in this world could get between Persephone and her man, not when she wanted him like this and he, well, he _definitely_ wanted her. She pulled apart his belt and slid his pants down a bit; he groaned, his one hand trying to help but she slapped it away gently. She liked to do this herself.

“Was supposed to be six,” she said. He gave her _a look_ that suggested he really didn’t want to talk about that right now, and she nodded. It would wait. She pulled him out of his pants with a high whimper from his throat; he really was absolutely needy, so hard already that he was leaking on her fingertips. It was…hot as hell, honestly, to see him like that.

She leaned over, suddenly grateful the man hadn’t bothered to install seat separators in this car in all the little fussin’ he did in the six months she was away. He did a lot of that, was doin’ it more now than he ever had: a little change here, a little change there. Sometimes the car, more often their home. Ambitious man, her man. Leaning down onto his lap, she was eye level – mostly – with his cock. She smiled. He’d made it challenging to give him a blowjob with how little space he'd left between the bench and the desk he’d installed to use when she weren’t comin' and goin', but Persephone liked to think she was a bit of a mother of invention when it came to sex with him. But then again, he was never one to be outdone, and he hitched her dress upwards and slipped her panties down with a grim determination all his own. She wiggled out of them with his help, and, in a move so old fashioned she had to laugh at it, he tucked her panties into his front pocket.

“You don’t want to put on a dirty pair later,” he murmured, pink at his ears.

“Who says I planned on wearin' any ‘round you?” she growled. He swallowed with a rather large gulp and she smiled.

“Not…not nice to tease a man,” he spluttered. She blew lightly on his cock and felt him go into a full-body shudder. Didn’t take a lot to get his motor fully revved like this.

“You didn’t marry me because I was a nice girl.” She reached low, gave what she could reach of him a nice caress _hello_ with her fingertips. “And judging by how heavy _this_ feels…I think you’d rather I’d be naughty right now.”

He chuckled but said nothing else in reply; his long fingers found their place and she bit back a soft gasp as he got a bit more adventurous, one finger butting up against her entrance. It was an appreciated starter and she didn’t mind moaning to tell his needy ass so. She let him have a few seconds of just his finger, exploring, mapping; he curled it tightly inside her, and he whimpered.

“Gods above,” he murmured. “I always forget how tight you get—"

"I prefer praying to the Gods below." She grabbed his cock with both her hands and pumped it once, twice; he all but jerked his hips toward her and she smiled and licked her lips.

“Oh, darlin’, you don’t need to do that.” She shook her head and smiled; if ever there was a time the man needed a blow-job, this would probably be it.

“Lover, I think if you get any more blood redirected down here, you’re gonna pass out. And I can think of so many things I’d rather see you do…” She leaned forward, teasing him with one long tongue swipe down him that left his breathing instantly ragged. “ _Than sleep._ ”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he spit, his tone filthy in all the best ways.

“That’s one of ‘em,” she purred. His breathing deepened as she bent down; with his pants mostly on, she had a limited repertoire, but Hades had been without her long enough she didn’t think he wanted anything fancy. Or would last for it.

She licked at the head of him; she could already taste the salt of his precome. “I missed your taste,” she whispered, and he whimpered, unguarded as he so rarely was; she went for a long stroke, taking him deep as she could without coughing. His free hand wound gently in her hair, and when she let him go, she wasn’t surprised to see his eyes half-lidded.

“I love you so much, woman,” he growled; his fingers picked up the pace, desperately trying to make her ready for him, and damn if that wasn’t a turn-on in spite of everything else. His finger curled and hit _that_ spot and she hummed against his cock.

He gasped, a bit too close already, and she backed off, letting him flop down.

“Love you too,” she said, rubbing his thigh. She looked up at him and was graced with a rare sweet smile. “You should know that by now.”

The smile vanished.

“I do.” There was a bitter undercurrent to his voice, but it was easily forgotten about, because he curled his finger _right there_ and she almost jumped; he was good at this.  God, she would give him that – he was being a fool right now, but he was a fool with damn talented fingers. She gave him a lusty moan in encouragement and he picked up the pace, going fast and hard at the spot that would make her see stars soon enough.

She dove back down to continue to suck him off; another long run of her tongue down him from tip to step and he was almost twitching for her, his hips rising just a bit in instinct. Losing control, she thought; _good_.

 She couldn’t quite get all of him in her mouth at this angle – but she made the effort to try, and the low growl in his voice suggested he appreciated it. She pulled back up, breathing heavy; once she caught her breath, she went back on the attack, swirling her tongue over the head of his cock. She whimpered as his fingers withdrew from her cunt, but didn’t stop working his cock until he tugged at her hair.

“Stop,” he huffed. “You’re too good at this. Come here and have me proper.” She smiled as she scrambled back into his lap; he was old fashioned in a lot of ways, but her favorite way was that he always wanted to finish with her and, preferably, in her. Traditional, she thought with a smile.

They both groaned as she maneuvered them together. She nodded once to signal she was ready; his arms circled her back as he pressed slowly forward and she moved down and it was amazing how well they worked, when they worked like _this_. All these little arguments just faded away; the physical connection so much more potent a salve than the little verbal jabs that rubbed them up against one another all wrong. Well, he had never rubbed her any way but _right_ in this. He moved to kiss her and she moaned as she slid down his length. It always was a bit of an adjustment the first time, every fall – and he was always patient with her, letting her get used to the feel of him before he’d even dare think of moving. Gentle man, her man.  

She pulled back from the kiss and looked at him – his soft eyes gleaming in the near-dark of the approaching eternal evening. She stared at the love burning in those bright eyes and he held her gaze.  Sure as hell itself, he didn’t look away, and he didn’t move inside her either, her tender old man, and she thought, _I love you_. She wished it was easier between them. Wished she could be full-time, or he could deal better with the time they weren’t together, or just — just that things were different.

His face shifted and she cupped his cheek. Such a beautiful man, her man; so much love…in so bitter a package. She frowned, biting her lip; she hated the bitterness that seemed to always lurk at the edges of _them_.  

“What?” He asked, gruff and surprisingly guarded. “What are you staring at?”

He thought she wanted to fight, she realized with a start. She could see it in him; the thought that she saw his desperation and thought it was _pathetic_. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled sadly, leaning her head against his. Damn pig iron fool, so many doubts she could drown in them.

“How handsome my damn husband is when he’s inside me, that’s what I’m looking at, you idiot.” She kissed her husband square on the lips before he could bristle about it, but she felt him make a little grumble against her lips anyway. Were just like him to ruin a good moment, but she wasn’t gonna let him try. She kissed him harder. “I love you,” she whispered against his lips, soft and sweet, and hoped he drank up that truth with her kisses.  “I _love_ you.”

She abandoned his lips, pressing a trail to his ear as he finally bucked in her, just a tiny bit. “I love the way your cock feels in me,” she whispered in an ear that practically blossomed red under her fingertips. That was the oddest secret about this man she’d never quite solved, yet; uncle Poseidon and her pa were always braggarts about sex, yet this man, sharing the same upbringing and the same damn genes, was so _damn_ shy. And there was absolutely no reason for it; he had nothing wrong with him. In that department, anyway.

“You just always hit me just right inside,” she murmured, hopin’ maybe he’d listen and get it lodged somewhere in his damn brain that she loved him. Weren’t a dumb man, her man; just stubborn.  She pushed him down, moved her hips forward in an undulating motion that had his fingertips digging right into her ass. He was never been one to dirty talk – truthfully he’d always been abominably bad at it, a waste of that  _voice_ – but he appreciated it at the best of times and she hoped he’d listen now.

“You fit me just right, you know?” She bit harder at his ear, hard enough to make him gasp. “Lock and key, you and me.” She moved slow, light and sweet little circles over and over her. “Perfect fit.”

His hand threaded through her hair as his hips gently rocked into her; she moved to kiss him and he leaned into it, his voice down to those soft velvety moans she loved to eek out of him. “Fuck me,” she muttered. “C’mon, baby.”

His face was almost as red as his ears and she smiled; no reason to be embarrassed, none at all, and yet — so damn shy. “You look so beautiful,” she whispered.  

“Wife,” he said, voice gravel deep and chocked full of something nameless and ancient. “You don’t need to say these—“

“I do. You drive me wild. And I’m gonna damn well gonna tell ya about it.” She kissed him and squeezed his cock with her muscles, felt him whimper as she chased his mouth, closed in on a kiss that left him shivering against her. She opened her eyes and found him lookin’ at her, eyes full of so much love.

“I love you,” he whispered, and she nodded. She adjusted her hips so she could ride him faster. His hips moved in concert, picking up speed.

“Fuck me,” she whimpered. He nodded and she could tell how far gone he was; his salt and pepper hair sweaty when she ran her fingers through it. He pulled her closer, his cock pumping steadily with her tempo. 

“You like this?” She cooed in his ear. “Your little wife on your lap, beggin’ for ya? Fuck me,” she whispered, gasping quietly just for him as he went _deep,_ building pressure in her spine that would send her into a white-hot flame soon enough. “C’mon, c'mon, _lover_. Fuck me _hard_.”  

“Yes,” he grumbled into her shoulder; “Gods, yes.”  

She took him beyond words after that; squeezin' his big cock with her cunt pushed him into a loud groan and then he was fucking her proper, moving beyond words. She lost herself in hard and fast strokes that hit that spot inside that made her whimper every damn time. She gave as good as she got; kissed him deep as she rode him, the only noises the hum of the wheels of the train, the wet, slick noises of his cock sliding in her cunt and the soft breath of their gasps, air flowing between his lungs and hers. They’d made love slow and sweet on this train before, but this wasn’t that. This was more desperate, both of them clinging to one another, finding a connection and burning alive in it.

One of his hands worked its way between them; she hissed as he made contact with her clit, moving in circles in time with his thrusts. She shuddered against him; not that she needed it to tell her he was close, he’d been practically ready to pop from the moment he put her on his lap.

Knowing damn well it would put him over the edge, she leaned over and bit at his neck. Not hard enough to be painful, but just enough to leave a mark for a good couple of days. His breath went instantly ragged and she felt him jolt underneath her; he was so hard, so _fucking_ hard.

She sucked at the bite, tenderly lapping it; both of his hands shoved her down and he gave a little murmurred  _oh_ as he came. He was always like that; quiet and deep, his orgasms never shouted but always enjoyed. “Fill me up,” she whispered, kissing his cheek, and he chuckled. Might not come to anything, but she enjoyed the feel of it, and knew he did, too. Always a chance they might be lucky, this time.

“Come for me, now,” he whispered, and she bit her lip. His fingers didn’t stop their movements, dipping and diving over her button as she rode his aftershocks. It didn’t take much; he dipped his head to kiss her so sweet and that, of all things, broke her open.

He held her face with his one free hand, watching as he took her over the edge. She cried out louder than he did. He released his fingers from her, discreetly curling them around her hips instead as he kissed her one more time; sweet, _so sweet_ for a man who was ninety percent bitter. Only for her, that sweetness.

He didn’t bother to slide out of her and she suspected he wouldn’t until he physically had to. He kept her gathered up in his arms and nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. Gods, this impossible man, so loving and yet so infuriating.  

“Better?” She asked.

“Getting there.” He sounded more relieved already; she sighed. She looked out from the nest of his great big arms; to her surprise, it was still a bit light outside. She supposed it wasn’t too late for him to turn around, to ask him to come on time. If he let her go back, she could say goodbye to ma, finish bringing a bountiful summer harvest to the people. She looked up and saw his lovey-dovey eyes watchin’ her close and careful, like he could tell what she was gonna ask and already didn’t like it. She’d need to be cautious in how she approached his hornet’s nest of a mind.

“That was a lovely time,” she said, softly, hoping to disarm him with flattery. It wasn’t a lie; he was good in bed. “You sure do spoil a girl in your welcomes, lover.” He kissed her forehead and smiled.

“We’ll have more fun when we get home. Get you in bed…maybe not get out of it a good week.” She smiled sadly; in the old days he really would stay in bed with her a whole week, but Hadestown had gotten too large for it to function without someone runnin’ the show. And he was always a hands-on kinda man.

“Hades,” she murmured. “We both know that ain’t gonna happen. Not nice to tease a girl.”

“Who’s teasin'?” The edge on his voice was back and his eyes suggested he was gonna call her on her challenge. For a man still inside her, he was a stubborn old cuss. “I’ll leave the whole damn factory to the foremen, just for you, lover.”

Her skin crawled thinking about foremen and factories, but she kept herself from shuddering. Not, entirely, his fault. He didn’t understand how harsh his little project was to the people he employed; never understood how his people missed the upstairs. He hadn’t been around it often enough to acquire a taste for sunshine himself. Last time he’d spent more than a few days up top had been durin’ the war to end all wars, and she knew damn well enough of that to know he still saw the upper world that way: full of hidden dangers, waitin’ to take whatever he loved most away from him.

Admittedly his few trips up had mostly proved him right.

“Unless there’s an emergency. Or a production quota is missed. Or someone gets their tongue waggin' and it takes the boss to sort it.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “Ain’t that I don’t believe you mean it that you’d like to stay. But I know you get busy.”

He’d left her drinkin' alone often enough.

“You’re always my top priority,” he said, bitterness tight in his throat. “ _You_ should _know_ that.”

He took a deep breath, and she sensed he was holding back some slight or another, swallowin’ that bitter muck like it was his favorite meal. Probably about the drink, or about how it must be nice to have a job she only did half the year, even if that wasn’t true: she all but ran the old town anymore so he could have his precious little shantytown.

“I’m just sayin’…What if we planned a vacation proper?” She curled her hands around his temples, going in for the sweetest kill now. “I’ll go back and have ma cover me, you get things arranged down there, and we’ll…have a holiday. Maybe Elysium, maybe go back to the old country…” He snorted, and she leaned into him, resting her forehead on his. “Maybe just stay locked in the bedroom.”

“We can plan the trip when we get home,” he murmured. A subtle way of saying he wasn’t plannin on letting her go, but there all the same.

“Hades…You know you’re too early. The mortals—"

“I don’t give a _damn_ about the mortals. Don’t make much difference to me when they come; old or young, they all come to me eventually. Your mother wants to send them down to us early? That’s just _fine_. She wouldn’t be able to insist she needs ya so much if there were less of 'em." He was getting mad now; he pushed her back a bit, sliding out of her. He tucked himself back in his pants and she sighed. He shot her a glare that could turn coal into diamonds. “You forget, darlin'. I agreed to this compromise for your peace of mind, and that only. I never needed the rest of _them_ and if you could have _just_ lived with it…”

“Hades…” She sighed. The compromise wasn’t something _any_ of them had been thrilled with, but didn’t he understand this was the best she could offer? Ma wasn’t strong enough to bring spring all by her lonesome; Persephone wasn’t strong enough to bring the harvest from below. But she’d given him half a year, half a year of her time in his kingdom. Weren’t always gonna be their love song and he knew it, she knew he had to, as much as she did. If they had an heir, he could abdicate, or she could; maybe that would happen someday, and if it didn’t…well, in the end — the well and final end of all things— he had to know she’d be with him, too.

Except, of course, that he was looking at her with a big old pout and heavy eyes. 

“Why don’t you want to be with me?” He snarled; raw hurt in his voice now, which meant he damn well wasn’t gonna be reasonable. “My home ain’t enough for ya? My love? What part of coming home with me ain’t better than up there?” His eyes flickered toward the shadowy windows. “Your mama really that much a draw? Or you just want to find yourself some little mortal thing that'll lay in the gutter with you when you've had too damn much?”

He put her down entirely and stood up; he was lookin’ to run, wasn’t even waiting for her answer.

Damn old fool! She felt her blood boil at the reference – real cute trick, talkin’ like she had a problem just cuz she liked to have a little drinkity drink or two — well, maybe closer to six — when he had his own demons, his own afflictions. So what if she liked to have a good time? Weren't like her drinkin' was any worse than his tinkerin'. He was — fuck. _Fuck_. Why was it always so complicated ‘tween them?

“Hades…” She tried to reach for him and he swatted her hand away gently. “I _love_ you. Do you think I’d do _what we just did_ with any other person? You’re my _only_. Thousands of years and you are my _only_. You think I stay all alone through six months because I ain’t fuckin crazy for ya? _Lover.._.”

“You have a funny way of showing it, begging me to let you go back.” He scoffed, and she knew in that that the beloved pet name was gonna have zero effect. Damn mulish old goat, her man. “I endure this insane custody arrangement just for _you_. Six months out of every twelve, _alone_. Managing the biggest estate, _alone_. Well, I can’t spend another night _alone_ in our bed, Persephone.” He snapped his fingers and the locks clicked open. “Don’t seem like one more week of your time is so much to ask, _wife_.”

He strode toward the door and something in her snapped. She stood behind him and pointed toward him, accusatory.

“You ain’t asked, Hades! That’s the problem! You just make a decision and damn it all if I don’t play along, jumpin’ to your beat! You say you ain’t like pa, but sometimes…you sure do act like him.”

She’d meant it as a wake-up call. She knew from the way he stiffened that he did not take it as anything less than an insult. The look on his face when he glanced back at her was as red and furious as she’d ever seen him.

His nostrils flared and he turned away from her. For a moment he was motionless, then quick as a viper he turned, slamming his fist into the wall. The bang echoed, loud in her ears.

“You’re treated a _damn_ sight better than my sister, Persephone. You want me to treat you like your father treats his wife?” He still wouldn’t look at her, spittin’ his words like they were venom. “You want me to find myself a multitude of mistresses and parade those girls in front of you? Hang you by a golden chain for daring to speak to me plain?”  

“You ain’t want that,” she said meekly; she regretted her words already. He turned toward her as he reached the door, face still frozen in fury. “You’re always sayin, it’s a shame Hera—"

“Maybe if I treated you like _your father_  treats my sister, you’d realize how good you had it. Maybe you should be careful when you put ideas in my head, wife, if you don’t want me to act on them.” He swallowed, then turned away. Coward! She didn’t believe a word of his blustering, but it hurt all the same. “I’m checking on Charon. We've been aboveground far too long.”

He was gone then, the door clicking shut before she’d had even a chance to come up with a good insult. She screamed wordlessly anyway. Amazing how they’d gone from him deep inside her to screaming at one another in minutes.  She cried tears that burned her eyes, but he didn’t return; the train increased sharply in speed, and she was sure he was watching carefully as he raced back home. No doubt poor Charon was pushing the engines well past any safety limit just to avoid the boss’s fury.

And she’d made him plenty furious.  And she wasn’t sorry, because it had to stop, but she didn’t like that he’d take it out on their subjects. Wasn’t right. He shoulda stayed and resolved it. Gods. How was she the adult in this relationship when he was so much older?

“Come back,” she muttered in her lonely car, but, of course, he didn’t hear it. She could have followed, could have chased him down and demanded he’d let her go, and maybe he would have if she’d demanded it hot enough. She could have apologized, too, could have said she was sorry and hoped he’d say he was sorry too, but she didn't. She wasn’t full of enough piss to fight him hard enough to burn the train down and she certainly didn’t have the vinegar to swallow the bitter feelings that were coating her throat. So she did what she did best: sat in the middle, doin' nothin' at all. 

Instead,  Persephone sat alone, watching as the mortal world faded away into a teary mess and the eternal darkness of her marriage bed finally came into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will not be a new chapter next week because I will be traveling, and part of this trip will be going to see Hadestown! I am incredibly excited. :D Apologies that I am still running behind though I am trying to catch up before I leave! 
> 
> In two weeks we'll resume back on the regular schedule! Same weekend posting time, same beloved disaster couple.


	9. The Nearness Of You [45.	Passionate kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You’re here for me, already?” She said in a soft, teasing voice. “You know you’re early, right?”_
> 
> _“I — I — “ **Smooth.** “I need you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which two lovebirds sneak away for a brief romantic interlude...and then doubt comes in, in the form of one's mother-in-law.
> 
> Set during their first summer apart.
> 
> Rating: E
> 
> Warning(s): Explicit sex in this one, mentions of potential pregnancy/children

He should not have come. He knew that much, as he always did. Standing in the middle of the murky cave, moss crunching under his feet, he kept glancing up above him, waiting for Zeus’ lightning to come crashing down on his head.

It was only month three of six, the earth trapped in a muggy heat that signaled the start of a miserable if fecund summer, and here he was, desperately waiting for his wife. He’d sent a half-frantic request to meet her through her brother, and prayed it had reached her in time and that the boy hadn’t read the letter. If he had, the little mouse he called a nephew would rat him out as soon as Zeus looked at him oddly. Unfortunately, he also knew the boy was more curious than was good for him. He just prayed that by the time his nephew blabbed, he’d have had a bit of time with her before this house of cards inevitably fell down.

He was being an idiot. He knew it. If Zeus saw him like this—moony and mad—he’d laugh. _To think a quim could reduce you to this state, brother_ ; he could hear it now. He banished the thought, splashing a puddle as he got closer to the mouth of the cave — or as close as he would dare come, lest anyone see him. He was an obsessive, desperate _idiot_.

But he was an idiot in love, and he could simply pray that _she_ would feel his move was romantic and not as pathetic as it was. The drip of water down stalactites seemed almost like it was laughing at him; at his needs, at his wants. As if anyone else had to suffer like this! His cowardly heart whispered that he should just turn tail, trudge down into the caves until he hit his grave and throw himself onto a bed that had never felt too large until the very second he stopped sharing it and wait there for the universe to end. She probably wouldn’t come, so why not face the inevitable?

The ground tugged at his heels as he thought of the underworld; he kept walking around, trying to ignore how everything in the world around him was trying to call him back downstairs. Whatever the business was trying to send him down, it would wait. He had to wait. Why shouldn’t everyone else?

Doubtlessly, the only thing waiting for him was work; dead souls to be judged—he had his work to cling to if nothing else—but…they could _wait_.

Weren’t going anywhere, after all. Like him. Just stuck…in a rut. And not the type of rutting he had found he’d come to prefer over the past year. She’d done that to him; he’d been dead and then she’d brought him back to life. Effortlessly. And now he was insatiable. Not just for the sex – though he enjoyed that – but her company. Her face in the early hours, sunny as the underworld never was, giggling over his shoulder while he was reading; her soft fingers, gently pressing a reassuring pat to his arm after a particularly grueling judging; her slim ankles, cheekily sliding into his lap and effortlessly capturing his attention; her lips pulling into a knowing smirk as he tugged her to him in his bed each night, only to part that tart little mouth in a holy _oh_ as he entered her— he missed all of it. Every moment of her. Every bit of her. And it hurt so much he didn’t think it would ever stop, and the only cure was — her.

The one thing that, for six months out of the year, he couldn’t have. He’d agreed to that compromise – a thirsty man would take a small goatskin over no water at all – but he hadn’t liked it then and liked it less now. The thought of her burned miserably upon his brow, as it always had. It was worse now that they were married; he’d had her and it wasn’t enough, was never enough. Would never be enough, he thought.

His eyes flickered to the blankets he’d brought up with him. It seemed presumptuous, but well…he wouldn’t have enough time to take her anywhere else. Underworld was a long trip, and even horses didn’t make it much quicker with the tight corners to the caverns that made up his domain. He’d brought a bit of ambrosia and wine in a basket, too — in case she wasn’t — well, wasn’t in the mood. He looked at the little scene, tucked up in the driest and most private corner he could find, and winced.

Father below, what he’d been reduced to. A king, the _eternal_ king, yet little better than a half-time husband desperately hoping to lay his wife in _silt_ , stealing her time like a little mortal _thief_. He should have been able to take her to his bed, to his palace, and damn the consequences. She was his _wife_ ; they were gods bonded to one another for _eternity_ and to be arbitrarily tossed out of her life for six months was an indignity that was all but impossible to stomach.

He’d only been willing to try to live with it because _she_ asked it of him.  

He should have tried to bargain with her, should have offered to give anything else to somehow keep her. It would have been better to lose an arm, an eye. Those would have been worthy sacrifices. Now, it felt like it was his soul that was ripped asunder — and that was a worse thing entirely.

Six months of every year, he’d be eternally bleeding for her. Would it get better with time? Hadn’t so far. Three months in and he still found himself profoundly depressed every morning he woke up without those curls tickling at his mouth; without her fingers gripping his on his throne; without her feet in his lap; without her soft, reedy little gasps in his ear. Alone, alone, alone. He’d stopped sleeping, stopped eating beyond what he absolutely must. And the worse part — the _worst part_ — was that any reprieve of his punishment would be temporary. She would always, always leave.

But maybe temporary would be enough. He could hope, though he had never been much one for _hoping_.

He paused. Something around him was changing; the atmosphere was growing…lighter. The scent of flowers twitched against his nose. He took a deep breath, nodded.  

 _She_ was coming.

He was sure of it, could feel it in the air, the way every bit of algae surrounding the grimy, dank cave was slowly blossoming around him. A waft of a springtime breeze floated past his nostrils.

Alright. _Alright_. He tried to run a hand through his hair, to smooth down robes already half-dirty with particulates from the mines and caverns he’d walked to get here. Not that he was ever much to look at it, but — he had to look his best for his girl. She had options up here, and he was very aware of them.  And very aware most of his potential rivals didn’t have silver steaks dotting their temples, or long war-scars that crisscrossed most of their body. And very aware, too, that none of them would have to take her away, so Demeter would doubtless have an easier time warming to a sunshine beau.

A bit of light peaked through the leafy cover of the cave and he went rigid. The light shone into his eyes and made them water, and he felt the tension build in him until a soft, slim brown hand appeared seconds later. His breath caught in his throat, still frozen like a wild fawn as _she_ emerged. She was a _resplendent_ wife; the smile on her face warmed every shadow in his soul, the softness of her eyes soothed every hurt. He loved her. Gods above and below, he loved her so much.

“You’re here for me, already?” She said in a soft, teasing voice. “You know you’re early, right?”

“I — I — “ _Smooth_. “I need you.”

 _Very smooth_. He started wishing for the earth to open up behind him for half a moment, until she started running toward him with a grin. He barely moved an inch, frozen at the sight of her as she squealed and jumped up on him. He caught her and felt the reassuring weight of her in his arms, felt her hair tickle his nose and her lips tease him with a soft kiss upon his cheek.

It helped. He breathed deep and caught the scent of thunderstorms and flower-scent. She was here, she was _here_. She wouldn’t be in a few hours, maybe, but she was here _now_. He swallowed the poison and bile he'd spent the last few hours fermenting and leaned into her. 

“Need me?” She purred. “Need _me_?” She wiggled her body against his grip, effortlessly interrupting his melancholy. She was not trying to get free, no; trying to get further trapped, his little vixen. Bright brown eyes full of wicked honey sparkled in amusement and he could not stop himself from clinging a little tighter. “Whatever could my big, strong husband need me for?”

“What do you think?” He asked, shifting her body weight until he could hold her one-handed; he kissed her then, and there was nothing gentle about it. He realized belatedly that he sounded a bit crass but he couldn’t regret his being so, not with the most beautiful woman in the entire world clinging to him and moaning appreciatively into his mouth. She folded herself into him, but her hand was clumsy, fumbling over his neck as if she had forgotten how to hold him. His stomach flipped, afraid. Three months was a long time, a long time especially for one so young. Had she forgotten him? Had she _wanted_ to forget him? He'd been afraid to look up towards her often. 

“I love you,” he said, knowing it wasn’t a damn bit fair to tell her that if she didn’t really want to be here. She smiled at him, her eyes glassy. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but wished he could.

“I know.” Coquettishly, she tickled at his chin and he couldn’t help but notice she hadn’t said it back. “You’re my _husband_ , you know. You _better_ love me.”

“I _do_.” He kissed her, against and again, inhaled the sweet scent of wildflowers and found himself feeling miserably adrift. “More than anything.”

He would burn the world for her, overthrow Olympus for her, die for her. She was _everything._ And she hadn’t said she loved him yet.

“I know,” she whispered, then she kissed him again; so young, his wife, so young. Why hadn’t she said it back? Had she found a sunshine man she preferred?  Someone closer to her age? She looked at him and studied him carefully, as if she could hear the raging whispers of his mind. She smoothed his hair back from his brow and smiled.

“You’re so handsome, my _filatos_ ,” she said, in words so soft but so sure poured directly into his ear, then she claimed it with a sharp nip that nearly made him lose his balance. He barely heard the sharp intake of her breath at his near stumble, but the pounding of his heart at this new word, this treasured word, drowned it out. _Beloved beloved beloved beloved_. She did love him, she did. He memorized the word, every syllable: the soft curve of her mouth in his ear as she said it, the sharp nip of her teeth chasing it. He’d be using the memory of that to keep him warm through – through a lot of lonely nights ahead.

“I miss you. I miss you so much.” Her voice was thick and he cradled her tighter in response.

“Miss you too,” he whispered, voice choked with emotion. “I wish. I wish — “

“I know.” Another kiss soothed his brow. Another kiss he wouldn’t feel in another few hours. “Trust me, ain’t no one know as much as I know.” She slid herself down and away, grabbed his hands and looked for a dry spot to sit upon. He gestured toward the blankets and the basket tucked in the corner, and she giggled. “You think of everything, don’t you? Always prepared, my man.”

The blankets fluttered as she raised her hands; he blinked in surprise as he saw grass move to grow between the cracks of the stones below it, offering them a bit of cushion. It was a lovely gesture.

And it just — just made him feel worse. Father below and mother above, he couldn’t even give her a bed. What an unworthy husband.

“You deserve better,” he said, and even he could hear the longing in his voice. “I wish I could—could give you better.”

She rolled her eyes and laid herself out on the blanket, one hand effortlessly tossing the broach holding her dress together near the food he’d provided. She spread open her dress and he tried not to stare at the magnificent mountains and valleys of her little body but failed, riveted to the sight. It had been _too long_ and he didn’t even understand how that was possible. How could it be too long when he’d lasted her entire lifetime, from infancy to adulthood, without experiencing this? How had only a year of being a married man reduced him to such a state?  

“You’re staring,” she sing-songed.

“Oh.” He looked away, willed the fingers that were already flexing to hold her to stop. He heard her sigh and felt heat burst forth at his ears. Disgusting old man; she probably thought he wanted nothing more than sex and it was — _she_ _was_ _so much more_ to him than just that. He felt her fingers tug his hand back to her and looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. She smiled, a soft blush on her cheeks.

“I ain’t _offended_. What I meant was, you ain’t _touchin_ ’. And I want touchin’.” She led his hand over the firm little hill of her breast, leavin’ him little doubt as to what she wanted. He sucked in a heavy breath as Persephone slowly ran his fingers over her nipple.

“O-oh.” He pinched and heard a low groan leave her sweet throat. His mind hummed into a fever pitch and he scrambled half on top of her, replacing his fingers with his mouth. She mewled underneath him as he lathed at it, thirsty as a newborn for the taste of her skin. Her hands curled around his head, pressing him down; he suckled her in response and she moaned louder, the pleasing noise going straight to his cock. He suckled one, then the other, going between the two until she was unable to do anything but gently mewl and cry for more. He only stopped when she wordlessly asked, her hand gently tugging on his hair. He looked up.

“Kiss me,” she said, soft. “Please?”

Wasn’t a request she’d have to make again. He shifted up, gently cupped her chin, and smiled.

“I love you,” he sighed, then he kissed her, a good and proper kiss. It was hard and right; he bit her lip and she whimpered only for more. Her tongue came hungrily crashing into his mouth, going on the offensive, and he moaned in sheer relief for it, opened his mouth gladly for her. His hand wound itself into her dense curls, gently cupping her head to provide a bit more of a cushion. She giggled and wrapped her hands around his head and he felt — for the first time in three months — _happy_. He broke the kiss and just pressed his nose to hers, enjoying just breathing the same air with her.

The thought occurred that this would likely be the last time he would be for months. He faltered.

“My man,” she said, so much love in her little voice. He looked up and found her lookin’ at him with soft pride. “Look at _my man_.”

“Rather look at you.” He pressed a trail of kisses down her lovely jaw; nibbled lightly on her ear and felt her wiggle underneath him, a delicious torment for both of them. He was iron hard and she sought the friction of it, rubbing her little cunt against his cock and making them both desperate. “My wife,” he whispered into her ear, a statement he enjoyed so much he felt the need to say it again. His hand drifted lower, gliding a path down her chest as he shifted to stare into her eyes. “My _wife_.”

She looked at him with soft, shining moon-eyes as his hands went further; she hadn’t bothered to wear anything in terms of undergarments—good. Taking them off would have taken away from the time together, and a part of him was relieved that she would so plan ahead. She _wanted_ this, wanted it enough to plan for it, plan for _him_. His long fingers found his target and the soft whimper she gave as he gently rubbed at her soft slit was enough to send what was left of his addled brain on fire. He shouldn’t love her so much but he did, he did.

“Yours,” she said, in a half-voiced puff of breath. She was breathing deeply, eyes widened with desire; that was his girl, alright. She left him to just touch her for a few moments; nothin’ too much, mind, just running his fingers softly down a cunt already wet and ready for him. He kissed at her neck lethargically as he shifted, finger gently circling her bud until she started to move against him, her hips seeking contact. He gave it to her for just a few seconds, then dived down and entered her. She gasped at the sudden intrusion of his finger. So sensitive, his girl; his heart beat faster as he moved slow, openin’ her carefully.  

Or at least, that was the plan.

He only got a few strokes into her before she grabbed his shoulders and pushed him off her; he fell back into a sitting position at her side and she rose up, closing the distance with her hands boldly cupping his quite pounding erection through the fabric. “ _Mine_.”

“Yes.” He shifted, maneuvered so he could kiss her cheek as she stroked him; a light touch, teasing. Felt good, even with fabric sealing him away from those little brown fingers, but — he wanted more. “ _Yours_.”

“I want you in me,” she whispered. “ _Now_.” He pulled back to look at her, eyes raised; wasn’t like her to want to skip the foreplay.

“You sure?”

“Not sure how much time we got. Hermes ain’t that reliable at keepin’ his trap shut.” Smart woman, as always. She squeezed her hand over his cock and he winced; the pleasure-pain blotted out any other thoughts in his head. “I want you to take me hard,” she whispered. “I want you to send me back to ma with your fruit growin’ in my belly.”

“Like that, too,” he whispered, voice rough. Not the part about sending her back to her mother — oh no, he wouldn’t like that at all. But he wanted—he wanted to give her a baby. If this didn’t take, he’d try hard, next time she was down below: the sooner she gave them an heir who could take over at least _some_ of their duties, the sooner they’d be freed from this vicious cycle. It was surely only a matter of time. Didn’t mean anything that she hadn’t gotten pregnant yet – their first year in the underworld had been _stressful,_ to say the least, and he hadn’t been in such a rush until it became a practical need to have an heir. It would come; looking at her, sitting open like a feast to be devoured, he was sure: a child _would_ come. She smiled and leaned back, expectant. “You got a preference?”

“A boy or a girl are both good with me,” she said; he nodded, a bit dizzy at just how casually they were able to mention something so momentous as their _children_.

“Ain’t picky about that part myself.” He shoved his robes up enough to fiddle with his loincloth underneath. “Meant more…the act.” He swallowed. His hands stumbled in unwrapping his linens, unused to trying to take it off with his robes still tied above. But time well — time was a factor here.

“ _Uh uh_ , take it all off,” she murmured. She moved forward, quick and nimble. Her hands hit his shoulders and started pulling at his clothes. “I want to _see_ ya.”

“Ain’t much to look at,” he muttered, and she shook her head. She shook out the knots of his belt, let the long robe fly open under her skilled fingers. She stumbled a bit, but she was remembering more and more how they moved together. She knocked her nose against his.

“You’re my man, and I wanna see ya,” she said, sealing the statement with a quick kiss. “Lemme view this masterpiece. Three months is a long time.”

“Too long,” he groaned into her mouth.

“Has to be.” She kissed him and he let himself focus on that, and only that; her lips, soft and sweet on his own. “Has to be, Hades,” she said. “But this helps.”

She pushed his robes down his shoulders and he forced himself not to look away, hating as her eyes took in every little scar, every little divot. Her fingers lightly traced a nest of them on his shoulder, then dipped her head, kissing each one with soft kisses.

“Yep, this definitively helps.” She smiled as she shifted onto her back, naked and bold. She beckoned him with one finger.“I like seein’ ya.”

“I like seeing you too,” he said, knowing he had by far the better end of that bargain.  She was a beautiful young woman, more beautiful than anyone he’d met before, and he’d met every mortal and immortal who’d ever existed. “Wish—“

“I know you wish. But wishin’ don’t make a reality.” She grabbed his arms, sending him tumbling over her. “Now get in me already.”

“Alright.” He kissed her soft and sweet and only looked away from her face for a moment to line himself up proper. Then he was back to watchin’ her reaction; the slow inward gasp she made was a bit more than usual – a show put on for his benefit, or pain?

“Stop?” He asked. "Slower?"

“ _No_.” She hit his arm. “ _Faster_.” Her voice was a little strained, but he just smiled, not challenging her on it, but not increasing speed either. He didn’t want her to go back to her mother hurting. Demeter had enough to hold against him.

“That’s it,” she murmured, her hands wrapping around his shoulders. “ _Fuck,_ your cock.”

“The mouth on you.” He kissed her, unable to stop himself as he took himself to the root of her.

“Glad you like it.” She ran her hands down his back, never hesitant to touch him at all, and he shivered, helpless in her power. He was a powerful god but there were many times when he wondered if somehow this little minx wasn’t more powerful; she looked at him with such pleasure on her face that he nearly fell apart in her arms. Certainly, she owned his heart, his little wife.

“You feel so good, husband.” She shifted to close the gap between them, hooking her leg over his. “You just…complete me, you know?” she said, laughing with a soft huff.

He shifted his head to her shoulder, to pressing soft kisses there; the intimacy of the moment was too much, too much. Of course, any god with a cock could do this for her, but he wouldn’t voice that. No need to invite the competition.

“Comfortable?” He asked as she dug her fingers deeper into her back.

“ _Oh yeah_.” Her voice shifted into the deeper, guttural tone she used only when she was being particularly wicked. He shifted closer to kiss her, gentle and kind. The ground underneath was hard, even with her grassy padding, and he was careful to keep his first thrust gentle. It was a challenge; he wanted more, wanted to rut her wild, but her wellbeing demanded it of him. They were too long apart, _far_ too long.  She was so tight and so wet and so _warm_ and he shivered at how good this felt. She _wanted_ him, wanted this — it was so much more than just sex between them. This was – this was so much more.  

He loved her so very much.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered, and felt a pleased chuckle from her as she squeezed him underneath her in reply. They both groaned as he slid almost all the way out and in again, and nothing on earth could stop him from kissing her as he reburied himself deep.

“Yeah,” she said as they broke apart for breath. “Fuck me, I’m ready.”

He didn’t need to be told again.   

He set the pace slow as he began to move, felt her groan in frustration.  “Time—“

“Shhh.” He nipped her ear and sent a slow thrust deep and nearly came from the way she rose up to meet him; she wanted him, wanted his cock inside her, wanted his _child_ inside her. “There's time enough,” he ground out, though his power over his own speech was already slipping. She was always good at making him lose control between that tight little cunt and that sharp little mouth; he grabbed her chin and forced her mouth open, slipped his tongue inside and whimpered, seeking home inside of her. Her hands dipped over his skin, resting on his hips. She pressed them forward and his hips snapped on instinct.

“That’s it.” She squeezed him inside, making a tight passage even tighter, every nerve of that particular appendage combusting in a _fire_ that was spreading through him, and he couldn’t hold back a long groan into her shoulder. “Faster,” she whispered. “I can take it. I want it. _Please_.”

He wondered why; a pounding on this surface couldn’t exactly be comfortable _._ But when he looked at her, her eyes all soft and pleading, he could not deny her. If she wanted to be stuffed so full of his cock she’d feel it tomorrow and the day after, he’d oblige her.  

He let her have it.

He let his eyes slide back, shut them tight, and set a more demanding pace, deep on every other thrust, her hands on his hips moving him faster and faster and he couldn’t even ask if it was good because the only noise he could make was a moan as every bit of his body began to get engulfed in her heat, her flames. He was helpless, could only listen for feedback in the way her breath changed as he kissed at her neck and her shoulders. “Ah,” at first, escaped her, in sweet little breathy noises; then, heard the heavier whine as he went deep as he could in her. It was harder to hear that little whine over the sheer physical distraction of being buried into the woman he loved from stem to stern, but he listened for it. Those were good sounds, but the one he loved best was the ones she started to make when she was real close; she made them then, the high-pitched gasps of oxygen as her nerves burned as hot as his, as her limbs moved hungrily against him, needing him, needing his cock deep in her and _fuck_ , he needed to be in her too, could not stop being in her, this was home more than any cavern or shade or even Olympus itself and he raced himself into it, trying to become one with her, knowing it was impossible but instinct bid him to try and try he did. Desperately.

He _needed_ her so much.  

“Oh, fuck me!” She cried out against him and he offered her no succor. “Husband,” she panted, breathlessly tight and he nodded, yes, _yes_. He knew what she wanted and shifted positions, rising to his knees so he could use his hands to take her with him. He wasted no time reentering her; he roughly tugged her forward and her hands went tight on his hips. He went deep and held it, all of him speared into her. She writhed underneath him, mouth open in pleasure, and he let himself lose his body in the rhythm of hers. She howled like a screech owl when his thumb hit her clit. It was far too loud a noise and yet he minded not at all. 

“W-wife,” he muttered, stuttering at the image of her, so taunt underneath him. His hands stumbled but it was enough, enough—she howled underneath him, the tension snapping, and he didn’t stop, didn’t stop at all as he took her over that brink and followed, collapsing into the warmth and comfort of her body on his as he went pleasingly numb. She shivered underneath him and he looked up at her, her mouth in an open, wide smile and her sap coating his cock and his thighs.

“My man,” she said, panting lighter now, running a hand through his hair. “My man, he knows how to treat his girl. ”

He nodded, still panting. He should sit up, he knew, but didn’t; he rested his face in the crease between her breasts and tried to imagine them swelling as a new life took root inside her. It would be a good time for it; she wouldn’t show too badly with her mother, and he’d have her at home for the birth in the winter, and then had to endure just a few agonizing half-years of not seeing her and his child — no, his children, he thought, no reason to stop at one — and they’d be able to be together more often, to have a proper marriage where she’d be with him and one of his daughters or sons could bring the spring instead. Or perhaps maintain the winter. Didn’t really matter. If they all took after him, well...He'd learn how to deal with the sunlight again. For her, anyway. 

“You think it took?” she asked, grabbing his hand and gently placing it on her belly. He wondered if the river of her thoughts were running in the same tributaries; they’d always been almost surprisingly in sync.

“Don’t know.” His reply was muffled by her breasts. “Hope so.”

“Me too.” She curled his hair around her finger as she rubbed her fingers through his hair, leaving it miserably fluffy. He wouldn’t smooth it down, though, enjoyed the proof she’d touched it. “I think ma’ll come around when we’ve got a little one.”

“Mmm.” He was less sure on that, though he knew Persephone hoped she'd come around; Demeter wasn’t as sharp-tongued as him or his wife, but she held grudges a long time and she’d always had a temper. He knew now that he’d fucked up badly not telling her sooner, but the problem with that knowledge was there really wasn’t a way he could rewind time to do things over again and nothing else seemed likely to assuage Demeter's fury at him for running away with her daughter. He couldn't blame his sister, not really. And worse still, couldn't blame her for the damn seasons, either. It wasn't Demeter's fault that she couldn't bring spring all her own, and he understood enough of his sister to know she damn well would have tried. Wasn’t Persephone’s fault either.  But this constant separation— it was unfortunate, and it hurt. 

It hurt a lot, and he was suddenly even more sure, in that horrible post-orgasm clarity, that it always would.

“I know she will.” She kissed his forehead. “I know.”

“Would be right nice.” He shifted onto his side, rising. She chased him to his surprise, curling into his lap as he tried to pull a bottle of wine from the bag at his side.

“There’s…”

“Food, I know, and wine too. But that can wait. Let’s try to up the odds on that baby, hm?” She smiled, wicked, and he could do little more than offer a stiff nod. His wife, as always, knew exactly what salve he needed, and he fell onto his back with gladness in his heart.

For a couple of brief hours, he thought no more about being parted from her side. There was only _her_ , there and in his arms, all-consuming queen of his realm and his heart.

But it went, as always, too fast, and he was barely grateful for the fact they hadn’t been caught out when she kissed him one last time. His heart sunk into his stomach as she turned away, and not even her waving as she dashed out toward the door helped. He’d kept her hours, knew he couldn’t demand more of her time. Wanted to ask for it, anyway.

“I love you,” she whispered at the door, and he bit back the urge to tell her to come home with him anyway, damn the consequences. Instead, he just nodded, hands at his sides.

She turned with a smile, and then she was gone, back to her nymphs and her flowers and her summertimes. He watched her go, felt every second of it. He stayed still, frozen in the cave, mourning her for a long second after.

Then he turned, and, as soon as he was sure she wouldn’t be coming back, he began the long walk home. The trip to the underworld went slowly, agonizingly so, and he was in no hurry. If it took him three days, three weeks, what did it matter? He hollowed out a few tunnels on the way, just to slow himself down so he wouldn’t be waiting so miserably long when he got there, but even with the busy work, it still only took a matter of a few hours to reach his front door.

He’d planned to toss himself into his work when he returned home, but the moment he got there, he knew something was wrong.. He paused. Something was down in the Underworld that shouldn’t be here. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of the intruder: wheat and grain, barley and corn. He groaned.

So much for being thankful that they hadn’t been caught.

He strolled up to his throne room with a deliberate saunter; he had no qualms with making Demeter wait. Fair was fair, after all.

He opened up the throne room as if he didn’t have a single care in the world; Demeter stared back at him from the seat she’d taken at the floor and stood. He studied her for a long moment, eyebrow raised.

“Well, if it isn’t Demeter _Anêsidôra_. Didn’t think I’d see down here, this time of year.” Or ever, truthfully. He leaned back, closing the door with a loud bang that he was pettily satisfied to see made her jump.  “Everything alright?”

She held out a single piece of papyrus and threw it at him. It hit his forehead and it tumbled downward; he carefully grabbed it before it could fall onto the floor, saving him the indignity of having to bend down in front of his sister. He unfolded it and found his own note to his wife; he winced. Explained how she had beat him down here, at least. 

“Have fun?” She hissed.

“I did enjoy seeing _my wife_ , yes. Quite so.”  No use in denying it; he was sure Demeter could smell her own daughter all over him. He stuffed the note in his pocket and ascended his throne, glaring down at his older sister. “Ain’t no rule against it. I know you haven't been married, so maybe you don’t know, but generally, a married couple enjoys spending…well, spending a bit of _time_ together.”

“You’re _distractin’_ her,” Demeter said, a bit of an edge to her voice. She didn’t like that married crack he’d made at her expense, and he knew it wasn’t kind. But then, he’d never been considered particularly kind. Wasn’t his attribute.

“And you being down here ain’t a distraction?”  He pointed up above. “Can’t imagine things are growing much in the fields without your august presence.”

“Hades…brother.” She held out a hand, palm up. “I didn’t come down here to fight.”

“Then why did you come, _sister_?” He said it plain, but his mind whirled, wondering exactly what his sister planned to do. He couldn’t imagine it being anything good.

She hadn’t come to visit before, not for the entire year after he’d wedded her daughter and not for the three months they’d been kept apart. She’d made her opinion downright plain as to how she thought of him as a son-in-law. He didn’t have any ill-will towards her for his wife’s return to the world above, no, but he wouldn’t deny that there were plenty of Deme's burrs that had gotten caught in his robes over the matter. “Not to give belated congratulations, surely. You’ve expressed your opinion on our nuptials quite well, I think.”

He didn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice and she didn’t have the grace to even notice the hurt in it. She just looked at him, storm clouds on her face. Focused on her own fury, as usual. 

“I was pissed about you two, I admit that.” Her mouth formed a hard _tisk_ and he ignored it. Deme was always a firebrand even if she could play at being sweet. “Hard not to be, when the one brother who you thought had a damn lick of sense suddenly runs off with your daughter _on the very day she becomes an adult._ ”

“At the _ceremony_ of said adulthood. A long-delayed ceremony, mind. Wasn’t like she was a child when we got together, Demeter. She’d been of age in everything but the title for _years_. That was obvious to everyone _but you_.” He realized, too late, that he’d fallen into a trap in defending himself when he shouldn’t have bothered.

“Were my decision as to when my daughter was ready to become an adult, not _yours_ ,” she spit. He rolled his eyes and she tilted her head, eyes going wide. “Wait. _When you got together_ — when were that, exactly, Hades? How long were you snakin’ around in my gardens?”

“Deme, be sensi—“

“You don’t get to call me that, not anymore.” She pointed at him. “You burned that bridge when you took her so young. Now: _How. Long._ She won’t tell me, so I’m countin’ on you to be the adult you should have been in the first pl—”

“Three years. Be four in three months.”  He forced himself not to look ashamed of it, even as her expression hardened into the disgust that he knew he deserved. Persephone had been an adult then, too, but she’d been young. She should have had her ceremony only a month before that first meeting, so long ago.  Demeter shivered and he offered no defense. He knew how she’d see it.

“I see.” She took a deep inhale, then a deep exhale. “Well. Thank you for tellin’ the truth, _son_. A bit overdue but — thank you.”

“I…” he tried to think of what to say. Wasn’t like he could truthfully apologize; he wasn’t sorry he plucked the little flower. Certainly wasn’t sorry he’d married her, made her a gods be damned queen. Wasn't as if an apology would make this better, but...it would be kinder to Persephone, to _try_ to assuage her mother in some small way. 

“What?” Demeter’s tone did not suggest a vast reserve of patience.

“I will be a good husband for her.” He reached out to grab her hand in reassurance but felt her yank hers away.

“Hades, don’t promise me things you can’t give—“ The sadness in her voice was a lance right through him, though he took care not to show it. He could make her happy. He had, and he would do so again.

“Demeter, _listen._ I’ll provide everything she ever needs. You too, Demeter. None of your line — not you, not her, or any of your grandchildren or their children or any descendant of ours — is gonna go without. Is it such a sad thing to you, the house of Hades and the house of Demeter becoming one?”

She withdrew visibly, taking a few steps back. The look on her face— overwhelming sadness—hurt. He glared down at her, furious. She hadn’t said a word, but there was her gods all be damned answer in her face.

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Demeter. Do you think you’re the only one of us for whom things didn’t go _as planned_?! Do not think of this marriage so unkindly. Your descendants will rule a damn realm, Demeter. Be princes and princesses — “

“Of the _Underworld_.” Her voice wavered and he looked away. It always did come down to that, didn’t it. Underworld just wasn’t good enough for her. He took his own long inhale, exhale and tried to calm himself down. Wouldn’t help matters in his marriage if he started taking swipes at Demeter. Persephone loved her ma an awful lot more than he did his. 

“Yes, quite so.” Was all he said. A model of restraint, he thought; Persephone would be proud of him for making the effort.

“I – I need time, Hades. To accept _this_.” She sounded like it was a god damned funeral and he wanted to scream at her.  What had he done that was so awful to her, beyond elevating her daughter's position, providing her eternal safety and shelter? His one brother had abandoned the child, the other had declined to intercede for her. He’d done nothing but _commit_ in ways they’d copiously failed to do. So what if his commitment came tied to a kingdom of sticks and stones? They were _earth_ gods, all of them. They should be at home here as much as he was.

“I understand,” he said, though he didn’t, not really. Wasn’t like the underworld was so awful in her daughter’s eyes and wasn’t like Demeter hadn’t already had a year to come to _terms_ with the _horrific_ fate of her child becoming a  _queen_ half the year 'round. He’d led Persephone back upstairs himself, hadn’t he? She’d seen with her own eyes how her daughter wasn’t a damned bit mistreated, how in love she’d been with the man _she_ chose. “Since we’re being so _kind_ , _sister_ , tell me a truth: why’ve you come? Spit it out. Stop wasting my time.”

She turned back to look at him, and he raised both his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

“I need you to back off a bit.” She jerked her eyes up above. “On her.”

“What?” No, he did not like this. No, he did not like this at _all_.

Demeter sighed. “Hades, you have to give her some time. She never got the chance to grow into an adult on her own before she married, went straight from my house to yours. If you love her, _truly_ love her, give her the time above to do that.”

He said nothing, thinking. Doubt trickled in like a pestilent swarm; a locust of worries clustered on his brow. He’d tried to be careful with her, tried to steer her in different directions until he was sure what he wanted. Had be unwittingly groomed her? He knew his face must betray his thoughts, for Demeter cautiously — oh so _cautiously_ — put her hand on his palm. He shook it off, irritated. He didn’t need her pity and she hadn’t made it a secret in all their years of bein’ siblings just how disgusting she found touching his poisonous hand.

“Hades, I get it bein’ hard, but you know I’m right. Think about it. She spent all those early years chasin’ my skirts, now she’s chasin’ yours, and well – we gotta make sure she grows into her own lady. Can’t just be a shadow of us both, you know that to be true as well. If you care — let her blossom on her own.”

“I —“He frowned.

“I ain’t sayin’ forever, mind. But can’t ye keep to yourself for the six months that she’s up above unless she initiates contact? Turn yer back on the sun? I know I was too tight on her saddle until all _this_ happened, but I’m lettin’ her be more independent now— can’t you do the same?”

He drummed his fingers on the throne, uncomfortable with Demeter’s glare straight into his eyes. He _hated_ this. No, this demand was not good news, not at all. He’d barely gotten a few hours of her time, and now he was getting punished for it. Wasn’t like he was following her day in, day out. He was her husband. They’d had a _date_. It wasn’t wrong to have a _date._ But then, had he unwittingly forced her into that date? Had he done wrong by her, despite all efforts to the contrary? Doubt wiggled at his mind and he tried desperately to throw it off.

“You misunderstand who you’re talking to. I’m not her father. She’s _grown_ , Demeter.”

“Frankly, I think you might care more for her than her daddy ever did.” She sighed. He, wisely, stayed out of that; Demeter and Zeus’ parting had been acrimonious and he wasn’t going to comment one way or the other. “Please, Hades. If you love her—"

“I don’t need to prove that I do to _you_.” It would be them both suffering if he did starve himself of the pleasure of seeking her affection, he was sure of it. He’d seen how she looked at him — she _loved_ him. Didn’t she? She’d chosen this.

Hadn’t she?

“I know that.” Demeter looked down at the floor like she needed to gather her courage, then glared up at him with an expression that resembled nothing so much as a rampaging bull, spoiling for a fight. “But Hades, if you want her to be your eternal bride, ain’t it better to _know_ she wants to come home to you instead of tuggin' her down as much as you can? Yolk her tight and she'll resent you, outright leave you eventually, trust me, I learned _that._ Let her  _grow_. Ain’t sayin’ you can’t talk to her. Just — for those six months, let her dictate the terms of talkin’. She sends you a letter, that’s fine. Just sayin’ stop sneakin’ her out to your caves and caverns when she’s supposed to be _workin’_. Don’t demand her time. Let her come to you.”

He put his head in his hand; he had a pounding headache and the name of it was _Demeter_. “I’ll consider it.”

“That’s not good enough.” Demeter’s tone was sharp. She was mad, and she always was with him. Whatever he picked it was always fucking _wrong_ even if he couldn’t bear to pick at all _._ He was glad he had the Underworld now, glad he didn’t have to deal with any of them except for _her._ And even that, well, it wasn’t on a daily basis, was it?

“Has to be.” He sneered and didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “Get out, Demeter. I’ll think about it. I don’t owe you any more than that.”

“It’s not a matter of owing.” She huffed; she wasted no time stormin’ toward his door. “I just thought you might have _cared_ about her maturin’, might have cared about her as a _woman_ _,_  but I guess you’re — you’re no different from them, just as _selfish_ as our brothers in the end. Guess you think she's just a hole for you to use and toss aside when you're bored. Believe me, I understand how _you all_ work, brother.”

His lips twitched and his hand itched to summon a weapon to hand; if it weren’t for his wife, he’d have dragged Demeter to Tartarus itself for that remark alone. He _wasn’t_ like those two, not at _all._ He hadn’t taken after their fickle mother; he knew what parent he resembled: obsessive, steadfast, inexorably dutiful. He saw the gods above be damned resemblance every time he looked in the mirror. Demeter of all people ought to have known. He scowled.

“ _Get out of my realm, Demeter. Now._ ” The entire castle shook in his displeasure.

She nodded several times, her face a terrible fury, but she said no more, and then she was gone.

There were souls to be judged — he could sense them waiting, huddled in the halls where Demeter was hastily beating a retreat back up to her precious surface — but he ignored them, went up to his room and threw himself onto his bed instead, with a great groan.

Time ticked slowly, inexorably onward; he could feel that much, could feel each second and each minute as it advanced the day. Demeter’s request burned hot in his mind and he closed his eyes. He hated it.

He hated more that she was right about it.

He’d been a dirty old lech, stealing the girl from her mother with his poisonous touch, and maybe she was an adult but he knew she was a young adult when he’d done it, too. Maybe Demeter was right; if he dropped the pressure, he was certain she would still love him. He knew she did — saw it in her eyes in that cave, when she’d begged for his cock and touch.  Giving her more independence wouldn’t change that.

She’d write. He was certain of it. He’d just have to wait for a letter, and compared to three months, well, that wouldn’t be much of a wait at all, would it? He’d just turn his eyes from the mortal world, throw himself into his work, and wait. She’d write, surely. And he would treasure every word.

He’d never been a patient man, but for her, he’d try.

But for now he allowed himself to lay back on his bed, close his eyes, and daydream of how the world would be three months from now. Her smile burned bright in his mind’s eye, and he did not look away.

He could wait for a letter. He was sure it would take no time at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this chapter is quite a bit later than I intended it to be. The trip went long thanks to some construction and I vastly overestimated the amount of time I would have to write on the trip and had this half-finished. We should be back to the usual Friday schedule starting this week. 
> 
> Edit: Apologies — I have to move this to Saturday due to having a hard deadine I had to hit. Apologies!
> 
> I'll do a longer write up of it on Tumblr/DW at some point but: I saw Hadestown and the show is _amazing_ , if you have a chance to see it, please go, and Patrick Page really does sing _that low_ in person. 
> 
> Notes:
> 
> Demeter Anêsidôra - one of Demeter's many epithets; this one translating roughly to "the spender of gifts"'; Hades is subtly insulting her a bit with her titles, as he did in [2\. Bramble, Briar, and Thorn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44107945)
> 
> Deme - Hades' childhood nickname in this fic for his big sister in this fic; one that he kept using into adulthood out of fondness/habit. He gets it revoked here, and doesn't get the opportunity to get it back until all the way into Chapter 2, post-Hadestown. 
> 
> their fickle mother - Rhea. Hades' feelings toward his mother are...complicated, in this fic's universe. 
> 
> Next week: Hades and Seph go home for the first time post-canon and try to figure out how to deal with the incoming triplets; Hermes brings popcorn.


	10. Calm Before the Storm [74.Kisses Where One Person Is Sitting In The Other’s Lap]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She’d run through a lot of the scenarios for this train ride home: Hades, so furious about her not telling him until she absolutely had to that he’d spend the whole time in the engine car; Hades, ignoring her entirely while he worked on his facts and figures; Hades, so happy he would kiss her and ride with an arm around her shoulder. Somehow, she’d always thought regardless of if he was happy, sad, or indifferent, he’d know what to do. She’d gotten used to him taking care of her._
> 
> _Now, seeing him for the first time in six months, she realized she had ignored a very important variable._
> 
> _Hades did **not** know what to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set six months after [6\. Walk With You in the Wind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44990554) and almost immediately after [2\. Bramble, Briar, and Thorn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44107945). Can be read on its own.
> 
> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: brief mention of previous miscarriages, pregnancy

Persephone had gone through a lot of scenarios in her head about what would happen on this, their first ride home since Orpheus and Eurydice had changed everything. She hadn’t known what to expect; it wasn’t the first time she’d told him they were havin' a baby, but this was the latest he’d ever learned of it, and the furthest her pregnancy had ever gotten. She’d run through a lot of the scenarios for this train ride home: Hades, so furious about her not telling him until she absolutely had to that he’d spend the whole time in the engine car; Hades, ignoring her entirely while he worked on his facts and figures; Hades, so happy he would kiss her and ride with an arm around her shoulder. Somehow, she’d always thought regardless of if he was happy, sad, or indifferent, he’d know what to do. She’d gotten used to him taking care of her.

Now, seeing him for the first time in six months, she realized she had ignored a very important variable.

Hades did **not** know what to do.

It was obvious from his face: Hades, eyebrows raised like he was lost at metaphorical sea and desperately trying to stay afloat through those old black brows alone. Hades, all too obviously struggling to not panic; Hades, quiet and silent, but attached to her at the literal hip. He had gathered her into his arms the second he'd had her on the train, and then struggled, visibly, to find a place for her. He looked at her, then the narrow bench of their private car. It had somehow become even narrower when he’d insisted on putting the damn desk in — she had always hated that desk. He looked at that a long moment, then looked back, and she saw the panic on his old face. Wasn’t wide enough for her to get through the narrow passage between their bench and his desk and he knew it. He tried to turn her around, drag her up to the engine room, no doubt to put her on Charon’s large seat and make the poor man drive standing the whole way, but she stopped him. That was eight cars ahead and after hoofing it all the way to the station, she sure didn’t feel like walking anymore.  She wasn’t even sure she could make it one — and really didn’t want any of their new arrivals fucking watching _this_ conversation.

“Can’t we just stay here? I’m tired,” she said. She might as well have said she was dying, for he paled considerably. He’d taken his arms off her then, just for a moment.

“Stay back,” he’d grunted, and she’d obeyed, too tired to argue though she didn’t understand just why he’d ordered her to do so until he put his hands under the desk.

“Hades, that’s not…” she said. He ignored her and she caught an unfamiliar flash of heat in his hands as he moved toward the top of the desk. He glared at it for a moment, mouth set, then pressed his hands to it. It barely took a moment for him to melt the struts that held the desk in place on the underside. He kicked it with more force than was strictly necessary, sending a flurry of paperwork in his wake. She didn’t have the strength to bend down to collect it.

“Hades, it’ll take hours to —“

“I _don’t care_.” He dragged the desk further, making a horribly _loud_ mess that she was pretty sure was frightening every soul on this route with him. He moved it down next to her bar and she caught another flash of heat as he re-formed the struts, keeping it anchored there.

“You’ve blocked access to the bar.” She pointed out, though she certainly wouldn’t be able to partake for a while. He looked back, his jaw stubbornly moving, then shook his head.

“It’s temporary.” He waved his hand. “Just…making due. You can have it back next year.” There was an edge there, but she didn’t jam her hand on the blade, just nodding along instead.  

Weren’t that always their way.  Always temporary. Always struggling to _make due_. She put one hand on her belly and looked at him: completely unmoored and more unfocused than she’d seem him in…in a long time. He ran a hand through his silver hair, and she thought: _we are too damn old for this_.

What she said, instead, was, “The papers—“ as if that mattered.

“Not important right now. Deal with it later.” He shrugged off the mess, instead taking a seat on the old bench. It looked exactly the same as it had for the last god damn century — and yet felt completely different.

“Come.” He held out his hand, now cool and safe — or as safe as he ever got. “Sit with me.”

“Ain’t gonna be that comfortable for ya,” she said awkwardly, hand tight on her belly. Was her fault that it was gonna be like this; she didn’t tell him early enough to prepare, didn’t even think of her belly being so god damn awkward that he’d have to re-arrange the furniture just to get home. She’d given him his distance but she wouldn’t have any, not now. She couldn’t stand the whole trip either, not without risking a fall, and if it were just her, it would be one thing, just a scar to laugh at her pigheadedness later…but it wasn’t just her. Not anymore.  She knew he would never forgive her if they were hurt for her mere pride, and knew, too, he would be right not to.

“Tell me,” he said, voice warbling like a stone in deep water and she could hear how lost he was even as he patted the seat next to him. “How to help.”

“You can’t,” she snorted. “Just don’t be a big ninny if it takes me a bit.” She gave him a bit of a death glare as she started to sit; her babies – and his, his babies, too – making every simple movement harder than it needed to be. _Get that from your father,_ she thought, uncharitable, and then caught the negativity, cringed. _Sorry, little ones, mama is just tired._ “No makin' fun of this either.”

He nodded, his hands on her hips to help attempt to keep her steady as she slowly lowered herself down. A clumsy effort on his part, but appreciated — he was trying. She tried to keep that in mind.  She’d barely gotten down onto the seat before his arm was around her, just like when she’d been young. She laid her head on his arm and felt it — hard. Tense. His hands beat an unusual rhythm against her shoulder — not a good sign, not in him who was so still so much of the time.

She tried to relax against him, but couldn’t. Something inside her felt rotten, felt like a thick black river of anxieties, coursing underneath her skin. She’d gone so long looking for the perfect words and hadn’t found a damn one, and now what did they have after so promising a start but awkward silence and awkwarder desperation? She made a wordless, frustrated noise and felt his gaze snap to her.

And then, for one so still, he was suddenly very, very fast.

He pulled her into his lap, his wide arms encircling her like a gods be damned safety belt. She cried out in surprise at first, but he didn’t stop 'til he had her well and truly tucked up on his lap, her face nestled into the curve of her neck.

“This ain’t necessary,” she muttered, and he shook his head. His fingers flexed, moved to hold her held tighter as Charon started the train. She never had figured out how Charon always knew when they’re ready, but she was grateful for once, because the lights felt too heavy on her brow and she was so damn tired. Too many nights of half-scribbled letters trying to find the right words, too many days wonderin’ just how in the damn hell he’d take this. It had been _centuries_ since they’d discussed anything about _this_ and she should have gone down or had him come up or just sent that letter but now it was too late for any of that and all she had was just a big ol’ mess _._

She put her hand on his chest and felt her his old heart throbbing fast underneath her.

“It is,” he said. He sounded damn tired himself and she wondered, on the other side, just what he’d been doing while she’d been away. Guilt stabbed at her, and she shifted on his lap, trying to find a way to sit in which she didn’t feel awkward and overly large. He looked down at her, cool eyes subtly evaluating every little change, and she wondered just what he was thinking.  

“Sorry,” she yawned into his ear, taking the safer route of making small talk. “Must be pretty heavy.”

“Ain’t heavy,” he said, though the fact his huge hands could barely span her belly suggested this was a bit of a white lie. Still, she would take it. He didn’t move after that, his eyes down on her new dress, watching her stomach.

“They ain’t gonna start crawlin’ out yet.” He looked up at her with obvious frustration on his face, but he didn’t say a word, and went quickly back to starin’ at her belly like it was full of titans about to burst out of the breach. “Gonna have to get used to the fact this is the last time we’re gonna be able to sit and rest for years. Might as well enjoy the quiet, Hades.”

“I haven’t gotten used to…” She heard the raw hurt in his voice and winced. She should have told him sooner, shoulda had Hermes deliver one of her hundreds of letters, and not worried about wordin’ or voidin’ agreements or any of that whole mess. Shoulda taken ma’s offer to go down herself and pull him up, should have not worried he’d rush up early and insist on takin’ her dow _n; shoulda woulda coulda_. He stroked her belly with a firm hand, like he was looking for architectural weakness. “You’re…you’re carrying my children. _Our children,_ ” he sputtered and she bit back her annoyance that he was still stuck on this because weren’t like he’d had time to come to grip with it and that was entirely her fault. She didn’t have the answers any more than he did.

She moved his hand and pulled it under her dress, felt his cold fingers as they grazed her thighs and then planted him skin to skin on her belly. Probably the least sexy time she ever pulled his hand under her dress, but he didn’t seem to mind, making a soft and sharp inhale. “Three of em,” she said, her voice full of shards of swallowed guilt. “Whole litter full.”

“Gods…” He said, rubbing her belly. “Three of them in ya.” He smiled at her, but it was shaky. She couldn’t return it, knowing it was all her fault. Barely got back on track and she was ruining it already.

“Yep.” She put her hand over his and hoped it was apology enough.

“How did…?” His smile vanished, his ears started turning pink, and she winked. “I mean…how far?”

“Six months down. Honeymoon babies.” She smiled up at him with a watery smile, the best she could offer and too late; he did not return it.

“Six months…” He swallowed, and then glanced up at her. “And you’ve known this whole time?” His voice cut through her like a damn knife.

“Not that long.” He raised an eyebrow and she sighed. She was so damn tired, and the thought of having this conversation was awful but she knew they’d put off too much to not do this now. “At first, I thought I was just late because I gave up the drink.”

“You gave up…?” He sucked in a breath. “Before…?”

“I ain’t had a drop since I was under the dirt.” She patted her belly. “Knew you never liked it and it ain’t like it’s ever brought the best out in me. Wanted to show you…show you that I was serious, you know? Good timing on my part, I guess.” The truth was if she hadn’t, they’d be pickled in her damn belly, and he must have known it, because his mouth fell into a long, thin line.

“Fortunate,” he said, and thankfully left it at that.

“Anyway…First three months, all my symptoms? I didn’t even think of being knocked up. Just put it down to the lack of the drink, all of it. Throwing up and being exhausted all the time are both pretty common in the humans when they're going off the drink and I’ve been on it longer than most of their kind have been alive. Figured my withdrawal just ran long. Missing my menses is pretty common when I'm stressed, and ain’t like the last few months been _easy_.”

“No,” he said. “They weren’t.”

“Weren’t until about three months ago when I started…well, feelin’ ‘em, and I told mama and…”

“Your mama told you that you might just have a kit and it turned out to be a caboodle.” _And you didn’t tell me_ , he all but silently added. And she hadn’t, it was true.

“I thought, well, we been down this path before. Maybe not that far but we’ve been down it a lot. And Hades, we…” She looked away, knew her cheeks were damn pink from the shame of it. “I wanted to tell ya. I _did_. But I thought, well, it’s not gonna last. I thought sooner or later I’d wake up and…they’d be gone. Like it’s always been, Hades. I thought I’d tell ya when they were gone and we could…” She swallowed. “Well, we could mourn together.  Things been so rough, I thought it would be easier on ya if you hadn’t…”

“Added more rooms to our menagerie?” She nodded. He’d made a room for every attempt in the early days that took. She’d named so many children who hadn’t made it, the halls next to their room full of empty bedrooms with the names of children who hadn’t survived her womb writ large on every door. Those rooms, those awful rooms, were simultaneously too sacred to use for a different child, and rooms too painful for either of them to get rid of entirely. Most of their many children hadn’t even made her belly bulge. The only sign marking their presence had been a lack of blood and a sickness that pounded through her head, but that was enough for desire to run through them both. And then, of course, the only thing announcing their absence was a flood of pain, and the only succor had been his hands holdin’ her tight when she’d cried into his chest.

“I kept waitin’. Waitin’ and waitin’ for the end, waitin’ to wake up covered in my own blood. But then by the time I realized they were stickin’ with us and I was puttin’ pen to paper it was…it didn’t seem right, to tell you like that. I didn’t know how to…How could I do this to you? How could I tell you this after tellin’ you to have a big think on _us_? How do I say _nevermind, we have a new crisis_? And I knew if I told you you’d come and it would change everything and….I just wasn’t ready. I couldn’t find the words to tell ya, not yet, and then it was too late and I knew you'd be madder still and I just…couldn’t.”

“I ain’t mad,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows at him. Bullshit. “Mostly. I would have liked to have known sooner, that’s true. But they aren’t a crisis.” He rubbed her belly and she saw softness in his eyes for a brief moment before it hardened into his more usual look. “Ain’t burdens in any way, these babies, not to me _._ ”

“I’m sorry.” She felt something wet on the edge of her eyes and made a choked noise of frustration. That has been another new thing, the tears coming in with the damned kids in her belly, and she couldn’t figure out why she wanted to cry at the drop of a hat because these were _his kids_ and pa above, they ought to get emotional repression from at least _one_ of their parents. “I’m so sorry. All the talk about trusting one another and I – I fucked it up, I know. I was scared. I didn’t want…”

“It’s…” He sighed. “We’ll work past it. Ain’t like I haven’t done you bad turns in my time.” His hand that wasn’t on her belly moved to scratch her hair, a familiar and easy going gesture, one she had forgotten how much she had missed. She was pretty sure his hand on her belly was just glued there for the next three months, and supposed that was his right: making up for lost time. “What’s Eileithyia say about all this?”

He changed the subject, and she should have felt happy about it, but she didn’t, because she hadn’t really thought of Eilei, who’d never been part of her life beyond the occasional nod and smile of recognition at dad’s dinners once every few hundred years. She had honestly forgotten there even was a goddess of childbirth. But of course Hades hadn’t, Hades who had every god and goddess and their duties tucked up in a mental index, because he’d always been the responsible one between them. If he were the one who had gotten knocked up, he’d have spent the day after he found out callin’ all the right people, gettin’ everything arranged for the whole gestational period. He was a provider and a planner and he’d always been. She wasn’t, and most of her previous times, she’d thought maybe that was why they’d never quite gotten so far: maybe she wasn’t fit for it, for bein’ a mother.

“I ain’t seen her,” she said, and his mouth opened, then shut. Opened again. Then closed again. He was tryin’ not to fly off. The tightness in his jaw suggested it was a right struggle.

“You ain’t seen her.” He said it quiet, and that meant he was pissed and sad all mixed together. “The goddess of childbirth, and _you_ ain’t _seen_ her. Not once. In six months. _While you’re pregnant with our children._ ”

“I just…” She sighed. “It ain’t like that! I saw a human midwife – that neighbor, Gladys? She’s been watchin over me.”

“Wonderful,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his mouth. “A woman of a lesser _species_ who can’t even pronounce my name is caring for my unborn _children_ …” She hissed in response and he flinched, held up a hand. He recognized it was a step too far; she let him wave the insult away. They had to _try_.

“You said yourself it’s her last summer. Be mighty bit easier if I had the same midwife upstairs and down. Can’t count on Eilei for that with her schedule and Eilei ain’t ever quite dealt with…our circumstances.” She sighed; not a damn one of the other goddesses had buried their children, no. Not one single miscarriage in that whole pantheon, all of them blessed with better wombs than the patroness of plenty. What could Eilei tell her? Least mortals understood miscarriages, understood womb death. Wasn’t like there was much of an evolutionary difference between them beyond the golden ichor in their veins and Gladys knew more about miscarriages than Eilei ever would. The only God who knew anything at all about that bittersweet pain was sitting next to her and knew as much about babies as she did. Besides, wasn’t like Ma hadn’t been helping in her own way. “And I’ve had ma, too. Not like it’s her first time around this sort of thing. She’s been helping me and you know she wouldn’t put me at risk, not any more than you would.”

“Your mother never had a baby in these…circumstances, lover.” He sighed at her, and she knew what he was thinking. Maybe Ma had just had things go _easy_ , even when she gave birth to a damned horse, but that didn’t mean she was less equipped to watch over her. Especially compared to Hades, who had _nothing_ but empty cradles to count as his heirs. She glared back at him, sarcastically imitating his sigh, and he shook his head, as if remindin’ himself not to fight. Great-grandmother Gaia, how were they going to ever make this work? They _had_ to make this work. 

She laid her hand on top of his and tried to give him a half-smile. _Try_. “Well, we’ll see Eileithyia too, okay? Cover our bases. We can see her together, now.” She suspected that wasn’t a question she even needed to bother to ask. Of course he’d go. She was pretty sure she couldn’t get him to _not_ go.

“When we get home, we’re sendin’ for Hermes to come fetch her right away. Unless you want to go upstairs and see her—“

“No, please, do _not_ make me talk to my pa right now. I ain’t got the patience.” Not to mention she was pretty sure Hades didn’t have the capacity to deal with Pa either. He’d kept his distance for millenniums, and she was pretty sure if he had to deal with one of her parents, he’d take Ma every time. Which was sayin’ somethin’, because Ma and Hades generally got on about as well as fish in soup: it was possible to get’em to cooperate, but neither particularly liked it.

“Okay,” he said, and took one breath, then two. “Well. Tell me what Gladys the midwife says: by her standards, how we doin’?”

“Picture of health.” She slipped her hand over his fabric-covered one, hoped that this question was a peace gesture. “All 3 have a heartbeat, and they’re all strong and steady heartbeats, too. Been gaining weight damn well, as you can see. Nobody falterin' or strugglin’. Very active. They like to move, you’ll see.”

“I want to see,” he said, and she heard the hunger in his voice. “I want this, lover.”

“I know.” He grabbed her hand clean off her belly with his free hand and kissed it, like she was the most precious thing in the universe to him, and she realized, with a great swell of guilt, that she was, and then the tears started falling. _Again_.

“But do _you_ want this?” He asked; he didn’t look at her, his voice choked up enough she knew him to be serious. He was afraid, she knew. Still so damn afraid. Lord pa above, weren’t they both so afraid. She’d seen enough mortal women get knocked up and abandoned to know that it wasn’t a damn bandage they could pull over their relationship, knew she still owed him a conversation that she was just too tired to have, but she did want them to get past this.

“Course I want them,” she said. “I always wanted to give you children.” She had wanted them for a long time. Had been through so many times it hadn’t worked just in hopes of one that would.

“You sure?” He asked, voice still rough. “Ain’t nobody in the family had triplets before and you and I ain’t had the steadiest path. Lot that could go wrong here. I wouldn’t blame you if you decided this wasn’t worth—“

" _We are having these damned babies,_ ” she snarled, and he recoiled, looking furious for a moment and having to take a deep huff that meant he was swallowing some bitter insult. “If things go wrong, we’ll deal with it when we come to it,” she said, a bit softer, and his jaw relaxed; he nodded, calming down now. His hands returned, pulled her tight up to him, and stroked her hair. The light outside the window abruptly died out and she knew, then, that they’d crossed over.

“Hey babies,” she said, pressing on her belly in hopes of feeling some sort of reaction. “Wake up. You’re home.”

“Welcome home,” he murmured, his hands following hers. She wasn’t sure if he was addressing her or the children; either way, she’d take it. One of the babies kicked against where he happened to brush his hand, and he looked up at her, naked joy so transparent on his face she watered up all over again. No, they couldn’t get rid of them; even if she’d never wanted them, she couldn’t, not after seeing that face. Wanting ‘em bad, and knowing he wanted just as bad even after all this time… wasn’t really a choice.

He was quiet for a long few minutes as the train turned toward the ancient station, their delicate seat feeling uncomfortably perched at some tipping point that she couldn’t quite fathom how to jump — or if she even wanted to. She closed her eyes on his shoulder and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Tryin’ to figure out how to _talk_ to him again, because it weren’t so easy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quiet. Didn’t enumerate why, but she knew he was apologizing for his…suggestion. His fingers stroked her back soft and sweet and she took a deep huff of his scent. Gods she had missed his scent. He’d packed one of his own shirts by accident in her things and she’d greedily huffed it the last three months, hoping somehow the children would know his scent as part of their own.

“Not doin' that anymore,” she hummed into his shoulder, hopin’ maybe if they let go of some of the blame, they could get better. Had to try. “Sides, ain’t I the one who should be apologizin’?”

 “You ain’t done anything more to me than I done to you.” Not exactly comforting, that thought. They’d both been very, very good at cutting one another down.

“Don’t,” she yawned. She knew she owed him a big discussion about everything, but her eyes were so, so heavy and her brain was little more than mush after all she’d stayed up worrin’ he wouldn’t want this, or just plain worryin’ that what they wanted wouldn't matter. She squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him as she asked for the old ceasefire. “I just…I’m so tired. Can we put a pin in the big ol’ talk for now?”

He didn’t answer, just kissed her forehead, and then tilted her lips a little closer to him. He stroked the edge of her mouth with his thumb, and she pulled him forward, kissing him nice and good. His hands went into her hair, so deep down in her hair like he wanted to be so tightly wound in her that they couldn’t separate. He kissed her strong and heady, soft and sweet. He kissed her and she thought for one second that maybe he could drink her all up. He made an awkward sound, maybe him just clearing his throat and maybe more than that; either way, she had no time to dwell on it before he dipped her head further back, pressed his lips to her throat.

“This doing it for you?” She asked, laughing shrilly. It sounded odd, her laugh, even to her own ears; she was self-conscious because it was hard to believe he could like her like this, swollen big as a heifer in one of Ma’s old dresses. The laugh sounded odd, too, because Pa above knew it was hard to believe they could have this nervous sort-of happiness after so many years of silence and recriminations between theme. And sounded odd, too, because she was pregnant with his babies and she’d long given up hope of ever getting this far with him, and yet things between them seemed so new and tender that everything about _them_ felt uncertain.

“You _always_ do it for me,” he growled. His lips marked a hot trail down her neck, possessive. The tears started to form and he pulled back, raising his eyebrows.

“Why….?” He gestured at her tears.

“Oh, Hades.” She leaned into him and his expression shifted, mouth scrunching into a frown of obvious alarm at her sudden shift in mood. “We’re really doing this? Gonna be _parents_ , of all things?”

His expression softened. He fished his hand out from under her skirt, used both of his hands to grab both of hers and squeeze them tight.

“Yes. We are.” The two words were bound with finality only death himself could provide.

“I…I’m actually going to be having your babies,” she whispered, and he kissed her soft, right on the mouth. She’d known for months but somehow, it hadn’t felt quite all the way real, not till this very second. So many false starts and this…She shuddered. She wanted this to work out so _badly_.

The train shuddered to a stop, and she winced at the thought of getting off his lap, since any attempt to rise was gonna be a right struggle. She’d have to sooner or later, but Hades wasn’t showing any sign of wanting her to hurry up, which was surprising because she knew he always fell behind on travel days and was generally in a hurry to catch up. They sat in silence a long moment; she looked up and found him lookin’ down at her, eyes intense as they always were.

 “You are.” He said after what felt like an eternity, just as damn sure yet so quiet even she had to strain to hear. “And…” He pressed his face to hers, forehead to forehead, and closed his eyes. Whatever he was going to say hung unsaid for a long moment, but she didn’t rush him, sitting in dimmed darkness, mixing his breath with her breath until they were breathing the same air. 

“Thank you,” he whispered after a few seconds, his voice scratchy.  He didn’t say why, but she knew. Thank you for staying, thank you for coming back, thank you for taking the risk with bearing their children, thank you for letting their off-shoots take root down here.

Uncomfortable with the intensity of the moment, she smiled and deflected with her own brand of humor.

“Why are you thankin' me for what I do every gods-damned year?” She shoved at his shoulder. “Told ya you were stuck with me.”

“If only,” he said; there was some longing there that already made her feel guilty. She fought the urge to brush his hand off as she struggled to rise from his lap; he was careful and gentle as he helped her stand. “I’ll make this car bigger next year,” he mumbled, helping her get to unsteady feet.

“I ain’t leavin' pregnant,” she snorted; he smiled. She wondered if, having gotten this close to having one miraculous pregnancy, perhaps he was already thinking of trying for two. He was one of six, after all. But she shook her head; she was too damn tired to even _think_ of doing this again. Not right away, at least.

“Well…Didn’t think you were coming home that way either.” He put a hand around her side and squeezed her shoulder. “Has to be done, anyway. Next time this car runs the tracks, it’ll have three more passengers…”

“You think they're going back up?” She looked up, surprised. She hadn’t thought he’d _ever_ allow that, had already written their futures aboveground off. Born down here, they’d be more like their daddy, probably build up powers that melted steel and polished bone. She’d known when she offered that option that it was a needed sacrifice. Her little children would never be flower children, but it was simple enough logic to see why she had to give him this: there were three earth goddesses above, and one earth god below. Hades had needed help for a long time and she hadn’t been much of it, had all but abandoned the realm for centuries. Three young ones working with him from birth would even out a long outstanding balance.

And if they were really lucky, maybe balance out some of his more …extreme tendencies.

Hades took her hands, both of them, and looked at her again. Smiled, but it was a sad sort of smile. “Our children will need their mother,” he said, soft.

“Their daddy, too,” she said, refusing to give in and giving him a glare that could launch a thousand trains in the wrong direction. “I grew up without a father and it’s damn lonely. Ain’t gonna put them through that. Not when they’ve got a perfectly good daddy who they’ve already got wrapped 'round their little fingers.”

 She smirked at him and made a show of holding her belly, like she could divine what the little ones inside were thinking. “Oh yes, he is hooked on ya three already. _Terribly so_. I’m gonna come home next year and find all of ya running him ragged, house covered in baby toys and the damn dog in your bassinet. And your daddy enjoying every second of it even if he grumbles.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off.  “Now, between us four…he likes to grumble, sometimes, just to be grumblin’. You don’t pay that no mind.”

He _hmphed_ and opened his mouth and then shut it, stubborn jaw wired closed. He was always either selfish or self-sacrificing and she could see the two extremes at war in his bones. Eventually, he just shook his head. “Pin it. We’ll talk about that sort of thing later.”

“OK,” she said, too tired to argue about leaving too many balls up in the air for now. “Ok. Let’s get home.”

He nodded, grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door; she leaned on his shoulder and felt a bit more right in the underworld with his hand guidin’ her along. The door opened and she spotted a familiar face; Hermes had come to greet them. She’d asked the old gossip to give them a wide berth on the station the last time he’d come to Ma’s to pay a call, but, knowin' Hermes, he’d run down on the mornin’ collection, just in hopes of seeing a bit of the drama. He’d no doubt been itching to see Hades’ reaction for months now.

“Sister-girl,” he crooned with a smile. “You’re lookin’ so full of life. Literally.”

“I’m a damned funhouse,” she muttered, squinting as she took in the surprising darkness of the underworld. Was it her imagination that it felt colder? Hades' arms came up behind her, held her shoulders. She realized, looking at him, that it _was_ both colder and darker; he was watching her carefully, trying no doubt to figure out her reaction. She smiled; it was a nice start.

Proof, perhaps, that he were tryin’ too.

“Well,” Hermes said, and she saw mischief in his eyes. “Looks like you finally told him.“

“No thanks to you,” Hades ground out between clenched teeth. “I had a right to know, Hermes.” She looked up at him in surprise, found genuine hurt flash across his face. She sighed; it wasn’t abnormal, exactly, Hades lashing out at others for her own damn failures, but it was disappointing. Hermes smiled thinly, held up his hands.

“Apologies, Uncle. But it wasn't my news to give, we both know that. You know now, no harm done.” She glanced back at Hades, who wasn’t assuaged in the least; the glare at Hermes suggested it was lucky Hades wasn’t reaching for his bident and sticking it in a particularly tender area. This wasn’t going to go anywhere good, and maybe if she didn’t feel like she was carrying an assortment of bowling balls in her gut, she’d let them fight it out, but she was exhausted and her ankles were swollen and all she wanted was to lay down.

“Don’t you start pickin’ on him, Hades.” She shook her head. “I’m too damn tired for this shit.”

“It’s alright, sister. It’s his first, we’re all like that with the first. Took me to my third before I stopped getting those jitters.” She eyed Hermes warily; he’d been by far the most charming of her younger brothers and he’d had more than his share of children.  

“Third marriage, or third child?” Hades hissed out, then winced as he must have realized how much it _didn’t_ sound like what she _asked_ of him. Damn man needed to be rescued from his own hot head. She grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“Hades, settle down. It’s done. Can’t you just take me home?” He nodded, his mouth drawn into a thin line. He jumped down off the line, held out one hand to her while Hermes grabbed her other, and both tugged her down off the step, smooth as silk. Or at least, smooth as three bowling balls wrapped in a silky package. Hermes let her go after; Hades didn’t, keeping his hand tight on hers.

They walked in a polite silence for about thirty steps. She already felt tired and began to wish she had told him sooner; he probably would have re-engineered the line to build a stop right at the ol’ castle, rather than have her walk the half a mile to their home. And those steps, oh _Gaia_. For half a moment, she thought she should have told him she was stayin’ with her ma, even if she knew it would cost her later. Ma’s little clapboard house didn’t have more than a dozen stars whole way through. Hades never met a damn stair he didn’t want fifty of and he’d met a lot of them.

Hades saw her angry face, paled, and stopped. “Hermes,” he said. The tone was conciliatory, which was as close as Hermes was getting to any kind of apology, she thought. He cleared his throat. “I…apologize.”

Well, didn’t he just go and prove her wrong, her man.

She and Hermes both stopped and looked up. Hades looked down and avoided looking at them both. “Shouldn’t have…” He buried the apology there, kickin’ his feet in the dirt. But it was an effort, and that was enough for her. He was makin’ a damn _effort_ , and for the first time in a long time, she was happy to be home even if she had to hoof her way up six million and a half god damn stairs.

“I know, Uncle. I know. You’ll get the hang of it.” Hermes smiled, brilliantly as always. “She’ll help you, too; my sister isn’t shy.”

“That, she is not.” He squeezed her hand and looked at her, eyes heavy; she blushed, knew she must look an odd sight. Some royal welcome to all their new arrivals; oh, look, over there’s the queen of the underworld, lookin’ like she’d gone and smuggled a giant watermelon home in an old patched dress even her momma thought was too big and too ugly to keep for anything but the dusting and the mopping.

Hades seemed to be in a hurry to get her back to the bedroom, and by Pa's graces above’em did she want to get there too, but it was hard keeping up with him. He kept his steps large, and to her annoyance, Hermes did, too. Supposed they weren’t carrying three whole new gods in their bellies, but it would be nice if they had a little _sympathy_. Hades might not have known better, but Hermes — Hermes had a lot of children. How many? She tried to remember; he’d been with women and men alike, pollinatin’ like a honeybee and then on to the next pretty thing every century or two. She glared at them both, and Hades looked down at her, concern on his face. He stopped, and she thought, thank the gods above, he’s finally got it.

“You okay?” He stopped, hands curling around her shoulders. “Are the children okay?”

“Heavy,” she mumbled, glaring at him. “They’re _heavy._ And with these cannonballs, I can’t run so fast as you two.”

“…Oh.” He pressed his head to hers and mumbled a soft apology; thrice in one day? That was a new record for the old man. He slowed down after that, and Hermes slowed with him; they chatted with her amiably enough about nothing much — mostly Hermes’ allotment of the usual mountain and sea-side gossip, which was fresher than usual for her given how long she’d been bottled up in her room with ma — and it took a damn eternity and a half to walk that half mile, but she did it, and Hades even helped all-but-lift her across the stairs.

“I suppose you two want some private time,” Hermes said, a damnable twinkle in his eye. She glared at him. Hades hadn’t asked, but that route was _decidedly closed_ for the moment, and now Hermes was suggestin’ she had an _obligation_ to entertain his cock when all she wanted to do was sleep. “I will assume you still want those two weeks, Hades? It can be longer, if you two need more…time. Been a while since I’ve seen mine down here and I’ll…not mind a longer reunion.”

She frowned. She had not a damn clue what they were talkin’ about. Hermes goin’ to see some of his own halflings? Or had he started some infernal experiment the second Hades had stopped his? She looked between them: Hermes raised his eyebrows and winked at her, and Hades looked like he was about half-sure she was gonna keel over any second.

“We’ll...let you know. Before you start, can you call on Eileithyia, bring her down as well?” Hades wasn’t going to fill her in, evidently. He squeezed her shoulder, and she damn well hoped that meant _tell you soon_ and not _never you mind_. Had enough of the latter to last her a lifetime. “And no mischief in either task, mind. You remember the deal we struck.”

“I will get her, but you know me. I’ve always thought deals were meant to be renegotiated,” Hermes said with a cheeky little grin, and then he was gone, flying down the stairs with a jubilant speed before she could even open her mouth to ask what the hell he was talking about.

Hades grabbed her hand, and wasted no time, pulling her into their abode. It was quiet, dark; _home_. His arms folded around her, as best he could, and she leaned into his embrace.

“Welcome home,” he murmured.

“Good to be home,” she said, and squeezed his palm. For a moment he seemed content to just stand and hold her as the lights slowly drifted on across the house; she was content to be held, and curled into him. They’d get this.  “What was all that with Hermes?”

“Oh.” He huffed. “Took a few days off.” He said it like it was nothing, but she stared at him openmouthed. “He’s gonna watch things for us,” he explained, like _that_ was the part of this topic that was worth talkin’ about.

“Hades, you didn’t take time off after _our wedding_.” 

“…Maybe I should have.” He wrapped his arms around her. She couldn’t think of what to say, so she just said nothing, but oh, how her heart trembled. He was trying, trying so hard, and she was too, and now they had more reason than ever to not fall into the old habits.

Silence reigned through the place; she closed her eyes and took a breath, for just a moment. Odd to think this would be the last couple of months of silence in the old place; next time she came down, there’d be a whole wailing menagerie in the palace. She thought about their bedroom on the third floor and winced. Her younger self had intended to fill these halls with children, but somehow didn’t factor in that her extremely pregnant future self might not want to climb three flights of stairs. She sighed. _Fuck_. It was going to take half an hour to walk it and she did _not_ have the energy. She looked at the stairs and felt the tears well up.

“…What’s wrong?” Hades sounded confused; she looked up at him and even in the dim light, found his brows creased with concern. “If you don’t want me around…”

“Not _that_. The _stairs_. Why did you put the bedroom on the third floor?” She groaned. “It’ll take me over half an hour to get up there.”

“Oh.” He made a noise that she thought was a chuckle, but sounded too tense to really be very jovial. “We got more than one bedroom, lover.”

She nodded; honestly, the idea of lying down sooner sounded heavenly. Didn’t _need_ to be in _their_ bed, least not yet. Maybe if she got a nap in, she could conquer the steps. He took her hand and tugged her down the closest hallway, pushing her into the first room; Hera and Zeus’ home-away-from-heaven, technically, though she doubted her step-ma and her deadbeat pa would be coming to visit any time soon.  Hadn’t yet. It was a good strategic pick; close to the kitchen, private bath. Everything a pregnant sow could want.

She slipped her jacket off, not wanting to wrinkle it up, and then all but collapsed onto the bed, gradually letting herself fall back onto the frankly ridiculous amount of pillows with a soft grunt and then shifting toward her side, a much more comfortable position. For once she was happy they’d put six million pillows in here thanks to pa’s ridiculous tastes. She stared hatefully in the general direction of her shoes, though she could just barely make out the outline of the tips of ma’s old boots. Three sizes bigger than her normal ones and they did nothing but make her wish for the old sandals. Those at least were _adjustable_.

“Can you help me take my shoes off?” She hated to ask for help, but it had been weeks since she could so much as get a sock on without mama’s help, and getting her ma's old shoes on today had been such a nightmare with her now-swollen feet that she wanted basically to go barefoot for the rest of her life, as befit any nature goddess. 

He nodded, making quick work of the boots; she couldn’t see him working but felt the relief, heard _bang, bang_ , as both boots hit the floor. He pulled at the socks too as she fiddled with the dress; that was coming off, too. She could feel his eyes on her as she undid the buttons; she felt the weight of him settle on the bed beside her, felt his hands gently lift her up and pull off the dress. She heard more than saw his hands fold the old poplin, putting it on the table next to him. “Bra, too?” he asked; she nodded, then sighed in relief as he snapped it open and folded the uncomfortable contraption,  tossing it on the table on top of the dress. Good. Always hated those things.

She expected him to leave after makin’ her comfortable — that was his usual MO, make her comfy, then go back to doin’ whatever he felt needed doin’  — but to her surprise, he leaned down and tossed his heavy boots off too; _thunk, thunk_. It was all but defeating. He settled next to her, turned to face her as much as she was turned to face him, and she wondered how long it had been since they’d both been awake in the same bed at the same time, lyin' side to side like this. Half of the last trip, she couldn’t even look at him and the one time they’d taken to the bed together, she’d kept herself turned away as he kissed and nipped at her neck. This time, she was far too tired to even think about the endeavor of moving, and he didn’t exactly seem to want to move away. He held out his hand and slowly reached for hers. His eyes weren’t exactly makin’ a secret of the fact he was lookin’ her changed body up and down.

“Hi,” she said, feeling, for the first time in a long time, somewhat exposed. Her body had changed a lot since last winter, and she wondered what he thought of it; _you always do it for me_ , he’d said, but it was one thing to see her with a pregnant glow in a dress, another to see the new stretch marks, the breast that did not so much bounce perkily as flop, swollen already for their new arrivals.

“Hello.” He laid a hand half on top of her shoulder, waited to see her reaction before dipping it lower. He must have found it pleasing, for his finger tilted onto her breast, experimentally swirling around her nipple. She hissed and he pulled back, as if he scalded; his eyes lanced with new hurt and she sighed. Having to navigate this was…hard. Shoulda told him sooner. _Shoulda woulda coulda._

“Ain’t _that_ , just….hurts, right now. Sensitive.” They’d _always_ been sensitive, mind, but this was a bit too much.  

“Pity.” His hand came back to her shoulder, hesitant. “Anywhere else I shouldn’t….?”

“No,” she hummed. He scooted a bit closer, hand stroking down her chin. “Don’t feel ya gotta touch though. This ain’t my best look.”

“You look _beautiful_.” He was laying it on a bit thick, wasn’t he? Probably wanted to go play with some machine or another; couldn’t blame him. Was never very good at being still with her for long, no matter how much he claimed to like the slow path.  Somethin’ in her just…sped up his stopwatch.

“You don’t need to bury me in flattery if you’ve decided you don’t want to stay in bed with me. Ain’t gonna be offended if you wanna go. It’s pretty borin’,” She said; he lazily scooted closer instead. His nose slid over hers. 

“Ain’t going nowhere. Not unless you want me to.” She eyed him carefully; he smiled and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “And there’s nothing boring about you in bed, wife.”

“…You can stay.” She felt heat searing through her cheeks, and his hand fell on her face, stroking her cheek. She stared at him for a moment and he stared back, then he grabbed her jaw, gently tilted her upwards for a kiss. It was a simple kiss, chaste and quick, but nice, and seeing her positive reaction to it, he quickly bent back for another, then another. She moaned a bit into his mouth; even tired, she was also a woman who hadn’t been together with her husband for six long, _long_ months, and she’d _missed_ him. His hand moved carefully to support her head as he shifted her further towards him, putting his weight into a longer, deeper kiss. Looking at the bedroom eyes he was shootin’ her when they split, she was pretty sure he wanted something she damn well did not have the energy to provide.

“I can’t. Too tired. “She yawned. “Sorry.”

“Just wanna kiss ya a bit before your nap if that’s…?” There was a deeper hunger in his voice, and it made her feel pleasantly buzzed. She really had missed him, missed the intimacy of moments like this.

“Kissin’s nice.”  The terms negotiated, he went back to work, and she damn near groaned as he teased her; she’d almost forgotten how when they were young (well, she was young, and he was younger, at least), he’d kiss her for hours and hours. He’d gotten damned good at it over the ages, and she — oh, fuck, she had missed his mouth. He nibbled very lightly on her lower lip and she moaned, wanton, into him. He all too gladly continued, his kisses feverishly hot and blissfully cool all at once.

Tears threatened to hit her eyes again, because she had missed him; missed the intimacy of him, missed the weight of him, the scent of him. Missed _all_ of him. Missed how long it had been since she’d last lain so vulnerable with him, and felt worried that perhaps she’d wake up and he’d be closed off again, his love vanishing behind his high walls.

She tugged on his hair and he pulled back, a soft smile on his face. “Hey,” she said softly. “Hey.”

“Hello again.” His voice shook but he did not comment on it, just pressed another kiss to her nose before withdrawing. She stroked his face, and he looked at her in the low light, eyes looking nothing but gentle.  “Seem to be sayin’ a lot of hellos today, lover.”

“Seem to.” She smiled as she ran her thumb across his lips; seemed appropriate, them startin’ over like this. He shuddered, and she wished she had enough energy to chase it with a good and proper kiss. Instead, she yawned and closed her eyes. “Sorry.”

“’S ok.” He kissed her fingertip and let her withdraw. “Know yer tired. Long day. And you’re… _well_.”

“I am,” she muttered. He pulled away from her a second later; she heard him shiftin' off his side and effortlessly sittin’ up. She was almost envious of how damn effortlessly he could do that.. She opened her eyes, found him taking off his vest. “Shirt too,” she said, and he raised an eyebrow but did as she asked, his fingers fussily sliding down each and every button; man never pulled a shirt over his head if he could unbutton it. He took his time, even going so far as to fold both before laying them on the table next to the guest bed. Oh Ma and Pa and all the others above, she hoped the kids took after her or they were never gonna get out of the house. The thought of their children fumbling with their clothing, more domestic than just about anything she’d felt in this house in ages, ached tenderly. She heard the soft clink of him undoin’ his belt and tossing it in a small puddle on his side of the bed, and the gentle snap of opening his pants, though he didn’t bother to toss those off. More’s the pity, he had good legs.

“You know,” she said, nakedly eying him. “You’re still damn nice eye candy. If these kids take after you, we’ll have made some very pretty babies.”

She heard him scoff but he ignored the comment, instead wordlessly offering her a few of his pillows. He helped her move them around a bit, shifting into a better sleeping position and moving some of her pa’s pillow collection into more supportive places. Once she’d burrowed good and comfy, he settled closer, his hands slidin’ past her pillowfort and into her hair. She let him get his hand good and wrangled in it and closed her eyes, sighed softly as he gently massaged her scalp. He was good at that, too. “Mm. You really stayin’ two whole weeks with me?”

“I’m here,” he said, soft. “For as long as you want me.”

“Hermes gonna ask for more than a family reunion if you want him to keep an eye on things that long.” She wondered, exactly, how they’d struck that bargain; had Hades asked, or Hermes? At some point she’d ask, but for the moment it felt unimportant.

“Doesn’t matter. We can pay him for his time.”

“Tell me,” she said softly, still stroking his face, because if she stopped, she would sleep and she was not quite ready, just yet. Had to reach out, had to try. “Tell me what’s goin’ on. In the realm.”

“…You ain’t asked that in years,” he murmured. She nodded slowly, let her hand dip from his big chin and down his wide shoulders, well-mottled with scars. He smiled at her wanderin’ hands. “Not much to tell. Quiet six months, all things told. Sent the girl back, that was the most noise. Had to chase her into the big puddle...But she went, in the end. Reborn again up there soon. Nice family. Kind, well to do enough to keep her comfortable. Close as I could get her to his usual grounds.” 

“They’ll find one another.” She squeezed his big shoulder, felt his ancient heart speed up in return. “You watch.”

“Rather watch you if I gotta look up,” he huffed. “Other than that…I just turned stuff down because you…well. I thought maybe you’d like that. Anyone who wanted to change locales, I sent over to where they could go. Most of who we had in the mines are in Asphodel or Elysium now, dependin’. Few wanted to stay where they were, so I let them stay on. Few from Asphodel petitioned to go to town, said I’d take it under advisement 'til you got back. And your brother’s been coming around a lot. For once I’ve gotten letters out on time in the summer.”

“Mm, sure Pa appreciated that.” She rubbed a hand down his wide chest and smiled; damn Hermes, no doubt poking around to find out just how much Hades knew. Well, now that he knew, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore. And Hermes was probably already running his motormouth. _Fuck_. _“_ Just realized: might have more family visits. First birth in a long, long time.”

“Oh, for triplets? _Our_ triplets, aside? Unavoidable. Won’t just be your mother coming ‘round. They’ll _all_ come to gawk. Might even have to suffer my _mit_ _éra_ ,” he muttered, his voice offering no amusement at the thought.

She tried to remember grandmother; pulled up a blank. She did not think his mother ever visited Ma, didn’t remember her visiting Hades either. Even after they married, the only family member from up top willin’ to cross the tracks was Hermes. Ma would probably come _now_ , but _his_ ma? She frowned. His ma ain’t even sent a card when they married, let alone a present.

“Don’t think I’ve ever met your mother.”

“Really? Well.” He tilted his head. “I suppose Deme and I are alike in that.” In what way, he didn’t answer, but she dropped the topic for now; something more immediate captured her attention.

“ _Deme_?” She wiggled one finger over his chest. “ _Deme?_ I haven’t heard you call Ma that in — since before we were married. You goin’ soft on her now?” She could hope.

“Well.” He coughed. “We’re tryin’ to get along. I did knock up her daughter, so...”

“You _did._ And on _her_ time, too. _Scoundrel_.” He made a rare noise that she knew would never leave the room; an almost giggle, and she laughed at the sound of it.

“In her backyard, even. _Scandalous_.” He squeezed the hand on his chest, moved it over his heart. “But then…You’ve always made me bold.”

“Yep, that’s you and me. Always throwing ourselves into a big ol’ scandal. Been worth it, though.” She let her hand stay on his chest, chasing nonsense patterns into his heart. His hand squeezed tighter on top of hers and she left it there. She snapped her fingers on her free hand and the lights dimmed. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just shifted to hold her a little better; arm behind her pillow, the other on her hand on his chest. She closed her eyes and felt herself start to drift. “Think I’m fallin' asleep, lover.”

“’s fine.” He sounded hoarse and far away and she wondered what he was thinking or if he, too, were just tired. Certainly had had his shock today, that was for sure. “You get your sleep, little Mama. We’ll talk things out when…when we’re up again.”

“Kay.” She wished she could snuggle up closer to him, but anything requiring _movement_ was out of the question. She squeezed his hand and hoped it was enough. “Goodnight, Papa. Don’t you get all fussy while I'm down for the count.”

“I’ll try.” She smiled as he moved, curling closer; read her mind. He kept one hand in hers, and the other moved 'til just his fingertips rested on the underside of her belly. “Sleep well, lover.”

“You too, Daddy,” she murmured and smiled as she felt the hand in her squeeze tight before going slack, his breath going heavy and hers following close behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to FrenchToastandSourdough for helping go through this with me and pick through it with a fine tooth comb. As always, I owe ya. <3
> 
> Notes:
> 
> \- Eileithyia - Goddess of childbirth; one of Hera and Zeus' daughters, making her Seph's half-sister and Hades' niece. BFF with the fates.
> 
> \- Gladys - a neighbor of Demeters in this fic; first appeared in [6\. Walk With You in the Wind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44990554). 
> 
> \- Demeter giving birth to a horse - Arion. Yes, that happens. Yes, Greek myth is _real weird_. 
> 
> \- Hermes' paramours and halflings - Hermes is bisexual in greek myth canon so I kept that here, with him having several female and male lovers. He has some half-mortal children who Persephone thinks of as halflings — I'm going with the idea that demi-gods can die in this universe, so Hermes demi-God children would all wind up with Hades eventually and he would need to go to the underworld to see them.
> 
> \- mitéra = mother, in modern greek. I would have used ancient but the world in ancient greek for mother, μήτηρ (mḗtēr) was a bit confusing, given Seph's mom's name. 
> 
> \- I went back and forth on the Fates also being triplets (they are sometimes presented so), but ultimately decided they were not, at least for this fic universe, mostly because there's references to them being older/younger than one another. 
> 
> \- Deme - Hades' nickname for Demeter; he hasn't used it around Seph since [9\. The Closeness of You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/46037044) and Demeter only re-gave him permission to use it in [2\. Bramble, Briar, and Thorn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44107945) so it is indeed shocking to hear. 
> 
> Next week: back in time, but we'll be around with the triplets again quite soon. 
> 
> Thanks as always for the wonderful reviews you guys leave; they are a true highlight of my week. I know I'm a bit behind but I'll be working today/tomorrow to try to get caught up on replies. Even when I am slow, I really do appreciate them all! <3


	11. The Prodigal [12. Kiss on the nose]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hestia was good at seeing the things others missed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set about a year after [Ch 7. Damocles' Overture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/45240586) and two years after [Ch 3:Something in the Heart Beat like a Drum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44326276). Set about a year and a half before [Chapter 9: The Nearness Of You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/46037044). As always, story stands on its own, however. 
> 
> Rating: G  
> Warning(s): mythological references. The viewpoint character is Hestia, Hades and Demeter's older sister, who is the goddess of households, domesticity, and the state.

On the eve of the sixth  _noumenia_  of the eighty thousandth year of Hestia’s life, something extraordinary happened: Hermes showed up at her door, a tell-tale scroll clutched between his young, soft fingers. That event, in and of itself, would not seem extraordinary to anyone but Hestia.

Hestia was good at seeing the things others missed.

She stared, unblinking, at the surprise arrival; Hermes smiled, a nice wide smile that showed off all his teeth. She took that detail in, along with many others – his bouncing feet, his almost visible urge shout in his excitement —but her attention remained mostly fixated upon the scroll. She could tell, from its dusky brown color (for Hestia, so often, took the worst of the stack of scrolls, for dinner invitations were nothing if not ephemeral and it seemed a pity to use heavier, cleaner stock for something so slight) that this scroll was one of the ten she had sent as invitations for this  _noumenia_ , and given the lateness of the reply, and the other nine she had already received, she could tell it was an invitation sent to her long-reclusive brother. She could tell, too, from Hermes’ flighty expression, eyebrows and mouth poised as if to pounce into a grin, just how happy he was a reply had been sent back. Already she could tell why: the subtle pangs of hopeful hunger in the boys face, longing glances toward the ambrosial sweets laid high upon her table.

But, of course, Hermes, she suspected, did not know that she knew both who it was from and its contents; did not realize that both his expression and the slightly frayed edge gave away the happiness with which Hermes had come to give her this news.

It was her special pleasure to memorize the small details that the others ignored: the parchments and papyrus,the fires and their individual flames. She knew Hades' handiwork, the heavy ink visible through the thin paper – the edge having been ripped was unusual, but perhaps not so much so. She could see how the event could have transpired: could see her always staid brother handing it to Hermes in a hurried flourish;  _here boy_ , and despite all his care, Hades was a workman at heart, in tight quarters, and Hermes visited rarely. The papyrus would thus be ripped, either from Hades’ grip or Hermes’; it mattered little. 

The important thing was, he had sent a response. Hades did not bother to communicate negatives; her eldest brother, if he was disinclined to respond, did so by not responding. She had never received an answer back from him since… _since_. She knew the answer the moment her nephew stood upon her doorstep. He clearly expected more shock, more awe;  she saw him bite his lip in a visible panic that she would deny him this bit of gossip, deny him her reaction to seeing the rarest of their relatives come to her door on this, the most holiest of family holidays.

“Been a long time coming this one,” she said, and took it from him. She winked to soften the flow – Hermes did so often love to give her a surprise. He liked to do it to all of them but especially his auntie Hestia, who so often saw just what was coming. She bid him entrance to her home, and he sat at her table. Hestia smiled and poled a plate high with Hermes’ favorite flavors—apricot and fig, pomegranate and cherry. The boy always preferred things a touch sweet; as large a  _glykatzís_  as his uncle, that boy.

 Hestia, who took pride in providing her nieces and nephews with small joys like candy and toys, smiled and watched with war-won pride as her little messenger nephew chowed down with both verve and relish.

“How’d you know?” He said, crumbs flying out of his mouth. She smiled with motherly grace and swept them away.

“Hades has a heavy hand,” she said, unfurling the scroll. She did not know where he got his inks – they smelled pungent, but with the subtle tang of acrid smoke, not brine, as Poseidon’s did– but they were always dark as his domain itself.

  _I will attend – Dis_ , it said. No more, no less. She spread out the scroll and twisted her fingers around his lettering: spider-delicate strokes in thick, heavy lines – hands who knew too much, hands trying so hard to make order from chaos. It was like her father’s, as was everything else about him, and that was unfortunate. But she took comfort in that it was only her who would remember, only her who ever even seen her father’s writing, only her who had ever looked into the shadow of his face as a small child. Only her, after all, who had grown in their father’s house—for a little while.  She would not tell Hades this was yet another way he resembled his father. She could give him a small kindness in that.

“Wonder why he said yes.” Hermes brushed some crumbs from his mouth. As usual, the boy didn’t savor his meal, but perhaps that was a sign of their success in the war; the younger generation did not feel the need to view such treats as anything special. 

“You think he’s lonely?”

“Perhaps,” she said, removing his plate and washing it quickly. She suspected Hades was; he had come only once before, immediately after the war. He had slunk back, stayed in the shadows; he had been ignored, had not boasted as his brothers had and thus received less of the cooing accolades that so surrounded the other kings. He had left so early, and so unnoticed, that she had vowed to make him a guest of honor in the next dinner, but then, of course, he had not come to the next dinner, or any thereafter.

And what a sad portent that had been, for that first  _noumenia_  had also been the last to have perfect attendance among her siblings. Demeter and Hera had taken turns declining ever since, never to be in the same party at the same time, which at first Hestia found sad, if understandable, but now, so many years later, seemed only childish. Their children did not begrudge one another’s existence and so it seemed particularly foolish for Demeter and Hera to continue to slight the other, especially over a man Hestia suspected both no longer held any warm affection for in her heart. Demeter’s relationship with Zeus had long been tense, and now that her daughter was nearing adulthood (in Demeter’s estimation; in Zeus', she’d already long been of age) things were outright unkind. Hestia suspected her little niece found the whole affair embarrassing, to see all her little brothers and sisters assigned roles long before her, all due to the cold freeze between her parents. Demeter had sent notice she and Persephone would come; Hera had almost instantaneously sent notice that her, Zeus, and their children would not. It made Hestia sad. But now there was Hades, Hades who had not come in so long, her prodigal brother, and that would be a comfort.

“Do you have any messages to send, Auntie?” Hermes asked; as usual, he was already getting ready to go. She did not blame him, did not take offense; it made her happy he had so obviously looked forward to seeing her despite his heavy workload. She meticulously, conscientiously did not have favorites among her nieces and nephews but she quite liked Hermes. She did not dawdle in respect for his time, nodding as she pressed a couple scrolls into his arms. A thought occurred to her as she did. “One moment,” she said, and Hermes did not roll his eyes with impatience even as his legs bounced, eager to fly out the door.

She pulled out a stylus and a bit of ink, took Hades’ invite and wrote, on the back, a note to her sister and her daughter. Demeter would not take offense at the reused paper, nor would Hades mind her reusing his invitation. They both grew up too long without even the most basic of elements to cling to; neither would resent Hestia’s practicality.

 _Sister dear,_ she wrote in long spider-strokes that she obscured with loops. Like Hades, she was her father’s child in writing; it was a silent sin, a hidden secret only she knew. _Our earthly brother is coming to join us on the new moon. Be a dear and bring some extra fruit and nuts?  We shall tempt that glykatzís with some of his rare favorites and hopefully will enjoy the mole’s company much more often. –Hes_

She did not bother to sign her full name, short as it was. They all had their private nicknames, the Five Swallowed by Time, and Hestia understood  _Hes_  had a power all its own. As did  _Dis_ , and though she did not pause for one moment in signing her letter to Demeter, she did wonder why her brother had so signed his name the way he had. He’d been the first to break away from the pack and the first to put up a bruising wall of formality, the first to write, when he so rarely wrote, in elaborate phrasing like  _the undersigned, Hestia, hereby is granted, upon signature, a delivery of coal sent on a schedule hereby set forth in table 24-A…_  and  _Zeus, in great protest, do I hitherto write you in regards to your decision to interfere with the mortals in the war between party A, hereby referred to as the Sabines_ …; elaborate phrasing that was nothing like his homespun way of talking. She missed his voice the most; his voice was somehow deeper than their fathers, like stones in a rockfall, and yet so rarely used and when used so often disciplined in soft tones, words the absolute minimum of what was required:  _yes, no, pass this, move that_.  An utterance from Hades was pleasing to the ear but so rare it seemed a treat.

The most she had ever heard him stumble in his speech was exactly once, the last time she had seen him. It had been on that cursed new moon dinner, his first and last. She and he had watched from the sidelines, eldest even then in their respected covens, fussily watching their younger siblings to make sure they didn’t murder one another. They had watched how Poseidon had cleaved all too quickly to Demeter (who was not interested, not yet; her lips smiled but her eyes remained on the other  _other_  brother, whose mouth was as loud as thunder but whose words glittered like jewels in Demeter's ear), and Hera to Zeus jealously, _zealously_ wrapped around him like a barnacle because Hera had declared him her sanctuary and her rest and youngest girl Hera had never realized that the world was not hers by self-declaration).

Hades had seen the pattern as well as she; brother to sister, and he had hesitantly put his hand on her shoulder and said  _have you ever thought_ … and nothing more, and she had understood what he had meant but, in kindness to him, had played dumb. She did not and could not love him, not like he needed to be loved; the thought of kissing her brother ( _father’s_ ) cheek, the thought of seeing that severe ( _cruel_ ) face above her in the marriage bed – she shuddered, even now, at the thought. It had lasted only a second but Hades, as keen a student as she was of the unspoken moment, had perceived the rejection. He had given her a sad smile and shook his head, then excused himself for another bottle of wine and she had said nothing.

What could she say? It was not only his face. The thought of living in dirt and stone that she could press her hands against and never know where it ended…no, it was too much like their childhood home, too much full of darkness, of sadness. It was perhaps selfish to decline him, but it would have been cruel to pretend to him that she could love him enough to live in  _that_. She could be his friend. She could be nothing more, and Hades, who had given up so much already, deserved to have a lover who wouldn’t wince every time his beard grazed her cheek. She frowned, hoping that he hadn’t planned on asking her again; she’d have to go run through the list of nymphs and satyrs she knew of, see if there were any who might be to his taste. Just because he could not hold a sister did not mean he need be eternally alone.

But that was rather putting the apple cart before the apples, wasn’t it? To borrow an expression of Demeter's.

She shook her head and put the letter in her nephews left hand, with a sugary piece of apple cake in the right, and smiled as she watched the carefree boy wing his way to his cousins home, thoughts already drifting as to what traits her brother, so long buried in his kingdom, might like.

* * *

Days passed, the moon waned, and Hestia waited, matchmaking thoughts heavy upon her brow. She debated issuing late invitations – to reinvite Hera, Poseidon, Zeus (all declines sent before their long-dormant brother had come up underneath them) or to try to bring some nymphs or satyrs or perhaps lesser gods and goddesses – but in the end, she did neither. The former, she left uninvited because she did not wish a repeat of his previous dinner. It would be quieter. Without their other brothers, he’d feel more at home, she thought; calm company suited him better. He had never seemed wild about children but Persephone, at her age, was not a child, and had a sharp wit she suspected Hades might enjoy if he opened his mind to it.

She had not invited any of the lesser gods and immortals. Hera had ruined that thought; Hestia had mentioned, oh so subtly in passing, that their brother would come, and Hera had bristled, hackles raised. Hera had smiled, mouth full of bitter diamond teeth. “Perhaps he will seek to marry you,” she said, and then Hestia had to hastily and vigorously deny such, and felt the warming of her cheeks, for she knew the shame of her rejection; knew, too, Hera would make sure to tell Hades how quickly Hestia had denied him if she had a chance. Hera had had a heartbreaking marriage and wanted all to know, exactly, how much love could let one down. Hera did not see that such a message would be especially cruel to Hades.

When Hestia had countered by breathlessly squeaking a suggestion that perhaps Eilei or Hebe should consider coming, Hera had offered a heavy guffaw, laughed until she couldn’t laugh anymore, tears streaming down her face. Hestia knew she must resemble little more than vivid flame with the heavy blush to her copper skin. Her skin felt like it was on fire from the shame of it all.

 “Oh sister,” Hera said, teeth sharp as knives, and twice as cutting: “I think more  _mature_  ones are more his type. Our brother never was one for  _pretty_  faces.”

She did not, it must be said, slap her sister for the implication, not even when Hera patted her cheek in mock sympathy. Hera was to be pitied; a woman who boldly strode the world only to find herself pierced by the indifference of the world to the yoke she had tied so tight around it. There but for her pledge went Hestia. She did not bear Hera any ill will, but she was no longer so sorry her sister would not be there.

Hades, after all, had a sharper tongue than Hestia did, and she had hoped that this family meeting might, for once, not end in tears.

* * *

The night passed quickly, and much to her surprise, all her guests showed up early the next morning, before even Hestia — so good at planning, at measuring, at preparing — had anticipated them.

It was Demeter and her daughter who arrived first, afternoon arrivals; Demeter, carrying a cartload of apples in her hands, and Persephone, showing up behind, two amphoras of wine looped under each arm.  Hermes dragged something in behind them, there but only for a moment: his hands were full of crates of something exotic, citrusy. Pomegranates, lemons and oranges,” Hermes beamed. "Straight from the source." He stole a honey cake as he left, pressing a kiss to each of the women’s cheeks — charmer of a boy, that boy.

With him gone, Hestia turned her attention to her niece. She was a beautiful girl, Hestia thought, making introductions as she fussed with the crate. The sharpness of her wit was visible in her, somehow; some nameless quantity that told anyone who looked close enough that the girl was sharp of mind and not one to be trifled with. It was a good thing, Hestia thought; if she did come to Hestia’s order, it would keep the boys from trying to convince her to forsake her oaths. There was an intimidating presence to the girl as much as there was an all-encompassing warmth, and she found she quite liked the contradiction.

The girl and her mother were both so full of life – Hestia felt it as they infused her kitchen with warm laughter, moving amphoras and cartons this way and that so that they could socialize. For once, her little kitchen felt like it actually belonged to a home,  
to a family. There was life here; life, everywhere, from the fruit in their hands to the song in their hearts. In a place so often still and so often silent, it was…nice.

Nowhere was that more evident than the girl. Hestia noticed it, mostly in the way the girl moved – quick, graceful,  _charming_. There was something new to her. Some new light in her eyes; Hestia saw it when her eyes crinkled in response to Hestia’s  _how are you_ , the blushed cheeks when she shook Hestia’s hand. She would have thought it simply a sign of Persephone coming into her own womanhood, but no: there was a hint of a secret to her, and Hestia felt like Hermes in her desire to seek it out – but she demurred. Secrets were not, after all, things to be sniffed out in front of one’s mother.

“You’re looking well, Persephone,” she said and left it at that. The girl’s smile was polite and kind, but she caught the girl’s eyes going elsewhere – no doubt searching for younger company. A pity Hermes had only swung by for a moment. She wished Demeter had brought Persephone to Olympus more often; she barely knew the girl, and, more importantly, the girl barely knew her brothers, sisters, and cousins.  She would be disappointed today, perhaps, caught between just an aunt and an uncle, but she hoped Persephone would enjoy her time here and return again.

“Thank you,” she said, then bit her lip. “Are we the only…? Ma said there would be more guests…” She wondered if the girl could remember her distant uncle, and, if so, what she thought of him. She was sure the girl had met him, knew for certain the girl was there during that awful council meeting, when Hades had crashed in, screaming in thick titan-tongue over Hera’s troubles in Pylos – oh, she hoped the young one did not remember that, on second thought. It was not a good first impression and it had been a long time ago. She would not bring it up.

“Your uncle Hades is coming as well,” Demeter said, and there was no edge to her voice. Her face was relaxed, but the raised eyebrows suggested there was a hint of worry in that great, motherly brow. “Why don’t you go set the table, honey?”

Persephone smiled, kissed her mama’s cheek. Perfect daughter and yet – there was something hidden in her, some deep current that Hestia saw but could not quite sort. She didn’t dwell on it, however; Demeter grabbed her wrist, smiled kindly, and Hestia fell into her younger sister’s embrace. Demeter was her other self; her longest held sister and most missed. Demeter rarely favored Olympus anymore, and while it was obvious why, Hestia still felt incomplete without her and Hades here.

“Deme,” she murmured, kissed her cheek. “ _Deme_.” This was how it was meant to be, how she had spent the first few millennia of her life: her sister at her side, when nothing was between them all yet. Hestia closed her eyes and curled her hands over her sister’s shoulder.

“Hes.” Demeter squeezed her tight and Hestia enjoyed the feeling of it; she had never had a craving for physical love, no, but this-this sort of embrace was wonderful. She felt like a well-tended kitchen fire and basked in the safety of her younger sister’s arms. “Tell me the truth,” Demeter said, eyes all mischief. “How did you get that little mushroom brother of ours to sprout?”

“I’ve no idea.” She handed Demeter a knife and Demeter assisted her in chopping oranges; it was a rare food, oranges, and she enjoyed the burst of fresh, slightly bitter scent they released as the sisters sliced and diced. “I’ve always sent him an invite. This is the first one he’s returned since…”  She let the sentence go unfinished, but it ended, unsaid, the way it always had:  _since the war_.

“I think he’s finally getting over his sulkiness,” Demeter said, and there was excitement in her voice, a light lilt that made Hestia’s heart sing. She was worried about their little brother, too, Hestia thought. Demeter wasn’t one to show her emotions on her face, not like Hestia, but it was written plainly in the flood of relief in her voice.

“It is only a dinner. Perhaps he just misses the sweet stuff.” She dipped a finger in ambrosial honey to have her own taste of it; delicious and sugar-sweet, as always. Dis would love it; Persephone, she suspected, would as well. 

“He’s never been one to be ruled by his stomach. Besides, he’s come up top more often.” Demeter reached for the apples, begins to chop them roughly – already she was prepping them for their mother’s apple cake, though Hestia had not asked it of her. They were an oddly fractured family but sometimes so in tune that Hestia’s heart ached for what could have been.

“More often?” She tried to imagine it; to imagine her bother in the world below. Certainly, he had not come to Olympus, but, certainly, given what he had lost, she could not blame him. What was left for him here, but a reminder of the throne he lost, of the prospective wife who had rejected him?

“Mm, he’s been checking his borders. Comes for dinner with us after, sometimes. Seph’s been helpin’ him out a little bit with closing some of ‘em, too.” Demeter leaned out, checking to make sure her daughter was out of earshot. “It’s nice, you know. One of  _them_ makin’ timeforher. Zeus just all but washed his hands and Don, well, he’s always careful to never quite acknowledge her  _too_  much.” There was an edge there, and she reached out and smoothed her hand over her sister’s shoulder, felt Demeter give her the tiniest of nods in response. She understood, unfortunately, why Don had never adopted the girl — Poseidon would never want to offend Zeus by implying the girl was  _fatherless_ , though certainly, Demeter would have argued that she was — but understood, too, why Demeter would long for him to do so.

“He has always been responsible, our Dis,” she agreed. “Does Persephone like helpin’ him? He’s a bit …abrasive.” She watched the girl through the blue sea-glass window Poseidon had gifted her after the war; she was setting the table with a chaotic verve, hurriedly trying to set all four places in the least amount of time possible. She wondered what the girl thought of helping Hades; this assignment, she thought, though she did not say, was odd. It was hard to imagine Hades needing the child for checking the nooks and crannies where underworld went upper, harder still to imagine the girl enjoyed the tedious work of sealing them with soil, patching them with flowers. Surely that was something he could do himself? Perhaps not flowers, but moving soil was certainly within his purview. He hadn’t had any interaction with the rest of them beyond the most strictly necessary sense in years — was this Hades starting to tip his hand toward Demeter?

“She likes it just fine. I think she likes the challenge, you know, making all those roots drift down to his underworld. Got her daddy’s sense of common sense, which is to say, none at all.” Demeter sighed. “Don’t think our cranky brother could scare her off if he tried. Even if she were scared by the underworld, she’d just want to do it all the more.”

“The stubbornness, I think, she gets from you,” Hestia said, a half-teasing smile on her face. Demeter looked at her, trying to look stern, then laughed, her pout disappearing in a radiant smile.

“True enough,” Demeter said, slicing through her fruit. “I worry ‘bout that girl, though. She won’t listen to me that the mortal realm is full of dangers, let alone the underworld. Hades won’t hurt her, but he ain’t the only thing down there. Any time I try to tell her that though…” Demeter’s shoulders rose and fell. “ _Ma, I ain’t gonna get hurt. Ma, I can handle it._  She thinks she’s steel, invulnerable, and the moment she realizes she isn’t…” Demeter sighed. 

Hestia nodded, half –listening to her sister’s venting, still trying to figure out why, of all people, her brother had sought this particular young girl. Perhaps he was not so aware of Demeter’s relationship with Poseidon, perhaps was trying to move into becoming a father among Demeter’s children, Persephone would be a good starter for that, being so grown and — oh. She gripped her knife just a little bit tighter.  _Oh no._   She would have to talk to him after the dinner, have him stay late and perhaps do her best to avoid Hades having his heart broken again.  She bit her lip – should she mention it to Demeter? Surely Demeter would be aware of his intentions.

“Sister…” She started, but there was the noise of the door to her humble temple opening, and Persephone giving a light shout of surprise, and they both dashed out to look at their brother come crashing through the door, the prodigal son so long gone now returned to them. She reached him second; Persephone was standing next to him, barely a bit of space between them. The girl had grabbed his free palm with both of her smaller hands, but he yanked it away as Demeter and Hestia came in. Her heart softened in pity – he had been far too long alone, if even being embraced in such a small way made him uncomfortable.

“Dis,” Demeter said, all warmth in her voice, and Hestia said nothing, simply running forward and embracing his side. He needed to get used to them again, she thought. She looked at him, noted his appearance: well dressed, the material black but rich, soft, warm. She looked up into his eyes, which were warm but — as always — reserved.  He was just as she remembered; barely aged a day since the end of the war, the silver at his temples the only new arrival. His eyes watering from unfamiliar sunlight, he handed her a jar filled with some sort of spice. She breathed deeply; cinnamon. She coughed. He smiled.

 “For you, Sia.” He said, and she smiled at the rock-worn voice, so much as she remembered it. “For the food.”

“Thank you,” she said. He did not smile, simply nodding, hands tucked into the the pockets of his robes. Self-conscious, she saw; he had not been here in years, did not know his place in her home. She would give him one.

“I am glad you’ve come to see us.” She reached up and smoothed the unruly curls at his nape out of long-dormant habit, and he startled. Hestia felt pity in her heart and thought,  _oh, brother; you truly have been alone too long_. And it was true, and she was ashamed it was true, and it was even partially it was her fault it was true. She felt her cheeks color a bit, that he was so damaged, that she had, in her selfishness, so damaged him by dooming him to spend so many years alone.

“I am, too,” Persephone said, her voice oddly rich, and Hestia smiled. It was good they got along. She hoped that even if Hades was declined by Demeter, he would continue to think warmly of the girl. She clearly had become well, a friend of a sort.

“And I as well.” Demeter and Hades nodded politely at one another; she put her hands on Persephone’s shoulder. “You’re early, brother.”

He nodded, but said nothing, looking down at his feet. Hestia felt pity for him in her heart, but there was nothing to be done but try to coax him to enjoy spending time with them, and so she smiled. There would be nothing wrong with giving him a task, which would relax him a bit. Hades always preferred to be helpful. “I’m afraid we’re running a bit behind. Could you help me with the  _Kourabiedes_ , brother?”

An old smile came to him; gone quickly, but there for a moment, and she saw it: teeth visible in the glint of a second, not the knife-smile he so often shared with Hera, but one that was kind, pleased. “Kourabiedes?” There was hope there, in that deep voice; it warbled with a pleasing tone, and she heard it, and she marked it.

“I have not forgotten your favorites. Done and cooling, but they still need to be dusted with ambrosia and I still need to make the actual  _meal_. Demeter and I have the kitchen tied up, but I assume you remember how to finish your cookies?”

“I do.” It gave him a pleasure to have a task put before him; she could see it in the way he rolled up his sleeves, already focused on this small task.  She smiled and he nodded, primly taking a seat. She tried not to notice he took the chair on the edge. “Not many chairs,” he said.

“It’s a small crowd. Just us four.”

“That so?” She glanced at him as she brought out the ambrosia. His face looked a bit troubled, and she wondered if he was feeling rejected in that, but then she saw his eyes remained on Demeter and her girl, and her heart tightened.  _Oh_. She grabbed the cookies from their spot on the cooling rack and hoped she did not flush as she re-entered the dining area.

“I’ll help uncle,” Persephone said, taking the seat next to him; he made eye contact with Demeter and Hestia caught a spark to him, a sudden attentiveness, as if he was waiting for her to give her permission. His eyes darted back to the girl, and held them for a long moment. Persephone didn’t look away.

“Alright,” he said at long last. “Suppose it has been long enough I just might need it.”

Demeter laughed at that, a rare full-bodied laugh, and she thought: well, maybe this is alright.  Perhaps her thing with Poseidon had been a passing fancy, perhaps – well, perhaps Hades could find a place here, after all. Those three, they were all earth-types, and maybe that would make it a more harmonious family than the clash between earth and water Demeter had so spent herself upon.

She basked in the feel of familial togetherness for a moment before going back into the kitchen. “Deme, can you help me with the apple cake?” She asked. They could allow the uncle time with the niece alone; they seemed to get along just fine. That girl had never seen her grandfather’s face, and could not hate him for it; for Hades, she was sure that was a novelty.

Demeter nodded, smiling; she was clearly thinking the same. She touched Persephone’s shoulders. “Don’t scare him off now.”

“I won’t,” she said, glancing at him, and there was an undercurrent there that fizzled with energy that Hestia barely understood; Demeter seemed not to notice it, or, if she did, seemed unsurprised by it.  Perhaps they were further down that family road than Hestia had thought. Persephone grinned up at them as Hades set to his task, cracking ambrosia with his fingers into thick clouds of dust. “Apple cake too?” Persephone’s voice bubbled.

“Oh yes,” Hestia said. “I remember your favorites, too.” 

The girl smiled, and Hestia’s heart tugged, wondering how often her tastes were taken into account in her own extended family. Perhaps that was why she was able to get along so well with Hades; he had been overlooked for a very long time as well.

She left them to it, and glanced the sea-glass window as she busied herself with the food. She fell into an easy patter with Demeter and watched them, her hands focused on the flame while Demeter focused on the mixing and the measuring for the apple cake.

“They seem to get along,” Hestia said, watching out of the corner of her eye as Hades and Persephone rolled the old biscuit cookies into the ambrosia.

“Surprised me,” Demeter said, preoccupied; Hestia tossed the food in her pan and smiled. Hades was surprisingly chatty; she couldn’t hear him, but she could tell from the way that he chatted easily and handed the biscuits to the girl with well-practiced care. His hands brushed against hers just slightly, and neither seemed to pull away from the touch. She smiled. It was nice. Maybe her young brother wasn’t a lost cause. “He ain’t been much of a social one.”

She thought about Demeter, frowned as she watched Hades very carefully touch the girl’s hand, wiping the dust off of one. Did Demeter know his intentions? It seemed so obvious now. Surely he knew from the daughter that her mother would be here? “Do you like him?” she asked, figuring she should best say it plainly.

“Hades?” Demeter frowned. “Course I like him alright. He’s my brother. Can’t say I’d want to live with him, but he ain’t all that bad. More responsible than the other two, if not near so nice.” Hestia listened to her as she watched the two, the food forgotten: Hades still had the girls hand in his own, the dust long off of it. They were staring at one another, and there was — she swallowed. They were staring at one another a good long while, in a way that made even her uncomfortable. The look on the girl’s face was nothing that belonged on someone who had foresworn interest in others.

The girl, after a few moments of stillness, pulled her hand back, in a slow movement that seemed to take ages despite the fact they had only been on their own for a few minutes, if that. The girl licked one of her fingers, an intense look on her face, and she saw Hades’ response: back straight, eyes glued to her finger. Interested. She swirled it in the ambrosia, and slowly, achingly hesitantly, brought it to his nose.

Hestia didn’t breathe as Hades let her, not so much as a flinch on his face as she brushed that big old nose in crumbs.

And then followed it with her lips.  _Oh. Oooh_. Hestia had read the situation very, very wrong, indeed. It wasn’t the mother Hades was courting, it was — she froze. The scent of burning meat and vegetables filled her nostrils, but she barely noticed, watching instead as her brother, her  _brother_ , moved forward, quick as a viper, and then the girl was kissing that big nose, and then his  _mouth_ was on her  _mouth_  and Hestia realized she had the situation entirely, entirely  _wrong_.

No mistaking that as anything familial, no. The girl ran her hands over those silvering temples and smiled in a way that could not be mistaken as anything but carnal.

“Hes? The food’s burning. You okay?” Demeter shifted and she panicked, killing the heat and turning to block the window as much as possible.

“It’s — it’s alright.” She said, shaking her head. She did not know if Demeter knew, but couldn’t imagine she did. And if she didn’t, she certainly didn’t want her to find out here and now, by accident; she deserved to be told by the couple themselves. “I got distracted, sorry. Thinking about how few of us are here and…”

Demeter’s face was sympathetic; she smiled sadly and, to Hestia’s immense relief, went back to prepping the apple cake for the oven, pouring the batter into a clay pan for cooking. She whirled back; the girl was half on his lap, kisses more urgent now. Her brother’s hands were roaming in a way she wouldn’t have thought him capable of; after a long moment,  he pressed a hand to her chest and pulled Persephone back. “Not here,” he said. Hestia couldn't hear it, but she was quite sure of the words from the way his eyes darted to the door, could tell he meant it in the sternness of his face. Could tell how it was received by her niece, too; could see the shame in the way the girl’s eyes went down to the ground, her sharp mouth biting a kiss-swollen lip.

The girl looked lost, confused. His arm went around her, an ambiguous embrace that visibly left the girl only more confused. Hestia’s heart clenched in her chest; poor girl.

Hestia made a note to have a very, very different chat with her brother, staring for what felt like an eternity, as she watched her brother slowly stroke the girl's back. 

“Apple cake’s almost done!” Demeter chirruped, pleased. Hestia just stared forward, and wondered how she was going to make it through this dinner without tripping over a hitherto undiscovered secret.

* * *

The problem, Hestia thought, with secrets, was that they tended to devour everything. The fate they’d been born to consumed her father’s mind even if he had told no one, not even mother, until the day he’d decided all of them had to die for the sake of preventing a prophecy. Now, Hestia burned inside with someone else’s secret – and the dinner she was so looking forward to was crumbling all around her. Hestia didn’t have much of a b plan as to what to do if Demeter discovered her brother and her daughter were – well,  _were_. Hestia’s mind was running through troubling waters beyond that, trying to imagine how that had happened.  _How had that happened_?

Demeter for her part seemed focused on the daughter, and the daughter focused on them all; Hades seemed to be in his own world, as per usual, but now-now she knew that it wasn’t just him all alone in that mind, and she wondered how much of his old stone face was a front, and worse wondered how long it had been so.

“Deme,” he said, oblivious to Hestia’s distress, and she raised her eyebrows with a frown. His voice was strained and she wondered if he was going to reveal the secret then and there, if that was the real reason he had finally come up top to spend time with them. His voice was not angry, exactly, but not happy, exactly, either; there was nervousness to it, a sort of half-fumbled spark that followed through from his voice. His eyes glanced over to his side and held, for a long moment, on Demeter’s daughter, and Hestia swallowed her salad hastily in case she needed to break up a fight.

But after a long moment, all he said was: “How are you?”

The girl looked down, pretending to hide her disappointment in the salad, and Hestia swallowed. Gods, how long had this been going on? She knew Persephone was not so old, born just after the war and him well – he wasn’t as old as his big sister, no, he was only twenty thousand but  _only twenty thousand_  was a lot older than the girl. Was she even old enough to know this was what he wanted, or had he convinced her to think what he wanted was her desire? She reached a hand toward Persephone, then abruptly stopped, not wanting to act strangely in front of Demeter. She fumbled for a roll instead, but had to stand to reach them.

She noticed then that the girl only had one hand on the table, followed the other down and noticed, at the higher angle, that she was holding  _his_. Oh, Gaia, oh Rhea, oh  _mother mother mother_ , why were they doing this here? Perhaps Demeter did know.

She glanced toward her.

“Ah, brother,” Demeter said; she hesitantly — oh so hesitantly — put her hand on Hades’ hand. It was a skittish touch and he jerked his hand away quickly; neither of those two had ever enjoyed touching each other much, and Hestia wondered how he could touch the daughter when he so clearly loathed the mother’s hands.  “I am happy, to enjoy time with family,” she said softly, but Hestia caught the sadness in it, the knowledge of being rejected.

“A _noumenia_  should be spent with family,” Hestia said, smiling nervously. No one commented on her nervous smile as she dipped her hands into the bread, and she kept her head low as she ate. She kept her eyes on the girl; her arm under the table did not move. She wondered if this was not, in their own way, a quiet declaration: we exist, we are joined. Were they married? She did not think them so, not yet.   Great Gaia, so many questions. “Thank you all for coming,” she said, and felt like Atlas, holding up the delicate world of the party.

“It is a …pleasure,” Demeter said, stabbing at her salad. “Persephone,” she said, and oh, there were sparks there, sparks that made Hestia’s spine shiver. "Do you have something to tell your aunt and uncle regarding that oath?"  
  
Persephone made a displeased expression, a wince on her face before she could stop herself, but Hestia saw, too, the guilt that licked at the edges of it; the downturned eyes, the squirming movement of her arm under the table. “No, ma,” she said, quiet, and casual-like, but there was an edge to it, and Hestia felt a long-dormant urge to smother the fire, so to speak, before the fire enveloped those sitting around it.

 “There’s no hurry,” Hestia croaked. “Really. She’s got a lot of years before she will be as old as I was when I took the pledge.” Hestia laughed, hoping to change the focus of the dinner. No one laughed with her, though Hades at least had the decency to give a half-muttered  _hmm._

“No rush, indeed,” Hades said after a moment; he may as well have lit a powder keg, for the girl glared at him, her eyes two hard flints. “Don’t want to make a mistake,” he muttered, looking at her. Something unspoken passed between them, and Hestia thought surely Demeter must know, surely Demeter  _must know_ , because that was the most obvious silent argument between a couple she’d ever seen, and Hestia regularly ate with Zeus and Hera.

Demeter was looking between her daughter and the uncle, her brows half raised, and Hestia thought  _oh,_ she _sees it now_. She opened her mouth to try to think of a question to distract, but Hades had beaten her to it, had asked Demeter and Persephone about their wheat in a calm, clear void. Demeter visibly paused, mid-frown, and then the girl had chirruped a response, and Demeter, so distracted, continued on, the blip forgotten, on talk of wheat, radishes, and carrots.

Hestia sighed. She had to tell her – no,  _Hades_  had to tell her. Secrets tended to rot the body from the inside out.

She let the conversation continue, her mind a quicksand of how best to approach them –  _this_  – and she barely touched the meal she had spent so long upon.

No one seemed to have noticed. They kept a polite patter going between the three of them, but Hestia heard none of it, her blood roaring in her ears.  She barely said a few words – but no one seemed to notice that, either.

She stood to clear the plates, swallowing as she noticed how Persephone’s hand had shifted, slightly, over the course of the meal: now it sat on her brother’s thigh, as if it belonged there, curling lightly in movements that even Hestia knew to be suggestive. Hades saw her glance, tried to obscure her vision, handing her both their plates and Demeter’s with a flurry of movement, but Hestia noted more that he did not remove the girl’s fingers from where they sat, still softly stroking his thigh. His ears, she noticed, were red with guilt.

“Can you stay a bit?” She asked, her eyes flickering to his; she said it casually but she did not mean it so. “Could use some help cleaning up.” He nodded, then kept his eyes down low; gently, he removed the girl’s fingers. She did not comment on the fact that he kept hold of her hand as he did so. Demeter’s chair scraped back, a rude awakening to them all.  

“Yes. We should be going, though I’m sorry to say. Early morning tomorrow,” Demeter said; Persephone opened her mouth in a burst of protest, but one look from  _Hades_  extinguished it. Lord father below them all, surely Demeter  _saw it_? But if Demeter saw it, she gave no notice. She just nodded toward her daughter, her mouth in a tight frown. “Past your bedtime,” she said. “And the Harvest is hard work, and this will be the first time you’re trusted to do it all yourself, child.”

“Not a child,” Persephone said;  _no,_ Hestia thought,  _you aren’t_. And therein lay the powderkeg, and therein lay the kindling. She had been wrong – this would not be a battle between Demeter and Zeus. Hades was the wild card here, and she understood the other two well enough to know that it would change  _everything_  in this conflict. One way or another, this would come to a head.

She would just hope it was not an explosion when it was finally revealed.

Hades stood – he’d let go of the girl's hand at some point – and stood up, clasped Demeter’s. “A pleasure to see you, Deme,” he said. She wondered if he’d realized he’d been found out. But he didn’t show it, pivoting from Demeter to Persephone. “And you as well, sunshine,” he said, soft, and she thought even Demeter would have to be deaf to miss the love in his voice.

But she made no reaction, and Hestia nearly bit her lip to the point of bleeding as she ushered the washing into the kitchen. The soft click of the door told her that her sister and her daughter had left.

And she and her brother were alone.

* * *

She left him in the dining chamber for a long time, debating how to approach this; she watched him pace around the room – he would not come into her sanctuary, knew that, Hades  _never_  came into a space uninvited – which made this,  _this_ , all the more puzzling. She debated the merits of it as she watched tea steep – for nothing made potentially disastrous interactions go down smoother than hospitality.  

He came up behind her after a moment, her own cups startling her with their rattling as he dumped them into her washing station.

“Are you alright?” He asked; his hand touched her shoulder and she flinched.

“I’m alright,” she said. “Just – thinking.”

“Ah.” He leaned against the wall of the small kitchen, a move that looked casual but was anything but. Did he have suspicions? He must. She bit her lip. She did not like conflict; had weathered too much of it with her family.  She wasn’t even sure there  _was_  a conflict, just that she  _had_  to talk to him. She did not think them necessarily so unsuited; the thought of the longing visible on both their faces proved there was passion. For all Demeter feared Persephone’s fearlessness, it would be an asset for the Queen of the underworld – or for being Hades’ wife.

“Go sit down,” she said, taking the coward’s way out. “I’ll bring out some tea.”

“Thought you wanted help?“ He took a step closer. She moved a step back, and he frowned.   
  
“It’s fine, I just…” She tried to smile reassuringly, and obviously failed from the way his eyebrows rose. She was flustered, she was, and Hestia, so good at seeing so far, had been blindsided, and knew not how to react at all to this strange man, her brother but also her niece's paramour. “It’s fine. I just…wanted to talk.”

He did not smile at this; his lips thinned, displeased. His ears were a spot pink, and she wondered if he was embarrassed, or only sorry that the girl was gone, and now he had to suffer her company alone, and likely on a subject he would find uncomfortable. “Alright,” was all he said, and he said it in a long drawl. “Alright.”

“You still take it black?” She went back to safer ground, and he allowed it, nodding quietly.

“Let me do this, Hes,” he said, not unkind. “You’re…upset.”

“I’m not upset.” She moved out of his way anyway, watched as he gently poured out two cups. His, he put aside; hers, he reached over into the amphora he’d brought, tossed in a pinch of cinnamon. He pulled a lemon from its space in one of Demeter’s crates and looked at her; she nodded, and he cut it flawlessly with one hand and squeezed it in. Wordlessly, he held one out to her with all the tension in the world in his fingertips. Wordlessly, she accepted, her fingers performing the act of carrying it mechanically.

She glided back to the table, sitting at one side as he took the other. He sipped his tea, and she sipped hers, the two of them caught in an awkward tête-à-tête. She tried to think of how to start, wished that he would but that has never been her brother’s forte. Neither said anything. She sipped at her tea.

He sipped at his. His ears were still red, and after a moment, she opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked down, frowning. “Hades.” She said it quiet and reached out for his hand for comfort, odd as that was, to seek comfort in her little brother’s hand. “Hades.”

“What is it?” He asked; he looked down at her hand and she hesitantly squeezed it.  She didn’t answer for a long moment, just looking at him and trying to find the right words. He looked away, uncomfortable, and his hand receded. He knew. She knew he knew she knew.

“I had always thought…” she started, but abandoned the sentence, taking a sip of her tea to wash down the choked up worry in her throat. He’d made her tea perfectly, all those years apart be damned. He straightened reflexively and she saw the anxiety in that big, old body of his, frowning into his own dark tea.

“Well?” He asked after she failed to continue, and she realized she had been caught up in the observation too long, and that Hades had noticed it, and disliked that she studied him so intently. She smiled and shook her head, reached out and clasped his hand with her own. He raised his own cup to his face, and they both very politely ignored how his hand was oh-so-lightly shaking. He knew, she thought. He knew she knew. So why was it so hard to say?  

“I always thought your tastes skewed older, that’s all,” she said and said too fast, and she tried to put  kindness in the words and she tried to be gentle, but he did not see it, and she knew, because he had been so long rejected, and so used to looking for ways in which he was rejected, his face hardened, thinking she was making fun. “Just a surprise, honest,” she said. “But — I think Persephone is a good choice, for you.”

He spit his tea out, sputtering indignantly as he stood up.

“You – “He glanced, sharp as a whip as he moved away from her table, saw the blue sea-glass window that separated the dining chamber from the kitchen, saw its transparency, and froze. He did not thaw as she placed a hand on his wrist. She crossed the table, swallowed, and held out her arms. He was like a board, even when she enveloped him into a hug. “I can explain.”

“I don’t doubt.” She tugged him tighter and he did not return the hug, did not react at all. He reacted like a stone slab, and it was so hard to work with, and for a moment Hestia was jealous of the ease of his touch on the girl. His breathing was heavy; stressed. She frowned. “Why are you so upset? She is in love with you. And, you, I think…” She dropped the hug and shifted, leaning so she could see his eyes better.  He did not avoid her gaze, stubborn, and she smiled. No, she did not have to guess; she knew.

“You  _love_  her.”  And he did, she knew it; knew it in the way he held her gaze, in how he held that girls hand. Knew it too, in the way he was willing to risk Demeter and Hestia seeing their joined hands, in how he had let her touch his thigh in public. She needed nothing more than the glance of how he let her touch his thigh and how hesitant he had been to remove her fingers to know for certain. “You  _are in love_!”

He said nothing for a long moment. His breathing remained tense, heavy; he did not deny it. He was silent, dangerously so, and she pressed a hand to his chin. “Brother. It’s alright.” SShe ran a hand down his throat to his shoulder. He looked at her then, a vein of vulnerability open in that old granite face.  “You are in love! That is a wonderful thing, is it not?”

“I – “ he cleared his throat. “I didn’t — you are not...mad?” Unusual confusion in that iron voice; she marked it and she saw it. She grabbed his hands and shook her head.

“No.” She smiled. “Shocked, maybe. How did this happen?”

The pink of his ears traveled down to his cheeks and he moved away, pacing with his back to her. “It wasn’t — I never intended to. I just — I ran into her and I couldn’t…” He sighed. “She was bold. And I —I — “

“You came to like her.” She walked forward and grabbed his back, squeezing him tightly on the shoulders. “Love her, even.”

“Yes.”

“Well…” She took a deep breath and stared up at him. “Then I am happy for you. I have always hoped you would have someone and…” She smirked. “I do not think you so badly matched.”

“Oh, yes, only over nineteen thousand years difference between us, certainly not a bad match.” There was a bitterness in his voice at that, and she wondered if this was how he saw himself, if underneath that responsible old veneer was a man who hated every aspect of himself. Her heart hurt.   

“Time is relative.” Literally, in his case, and hers, as well. “I would be lying if I did not say I would have thought of it, but…” She squeezed his hand. “She has had a positive effect on you, brother.  Demeter told me that you have been showing your face more often, and if is it due to Persephone that I have been given my first glimpse of my brother in so many years then...who am I to say she is bad for you because she is young?”

“You…” He turned, awkwardly, away from her hand, dropping it. “No one knows.”

“If she continues to kiss you on Olympus, they will.” He nodded, mouth set in a firm line. Was that displeasure or nervousness? She wished he was easier to read. “Does this bother you?”

He said nothing, merely looking down. She saw in him the unusual lack of decorum, the unusual quiver to his throat. It was not how she knew him to act; all her careful practice, useless. She gathered her courage.

“If you love her, you should not be ashamed of being with her. You cannot mate her and not claim her. That is cruel, and you have seen from her father’s example what damage it brings.”

“I have not…“ He cleared his throat. “I do not wish to cause trouble for her. Or Demeter.” She wondered what he wasn’t saying, what the have not implied he wasn’t doing, but he was so nervous she opted not to force the issue.  

“Brother, it will be worse if you do not tell her, if this is so serious a thing. How long have you been seeing the girl?” She asked; she hoped, deeply, that it had been a fairly recent development.

“Two years, given or take.” His answer was an unusual mumble and Hestia breathed out, relieved. That was not so bad, though an uncommonly long courtship for their kind. He would have to tell Demeter and soon.  

“Oh, you must tell Demeter. She will mind her daughter being married to a king, surely?” She smiled. “So long as the match is a good one.”

“We are not…I told you, no one knows.”

“I think if she is touching your knee next to her mother…” He caught her implication and winced; there was little need to point out that it had, decidedly, not been so chaste as to be contained to his knee. “She is ready for a public commitment. And if you are willing to come to Olympus to see her...”

“Hes…”

“I should like to see you married, if you wish to be. It would give me great happiness to see you happy.” She looked at his eyes and he looked away. “You have been alone so long, and to see someone who wishes to be with you so…”

“You…ain't...? I know you’ve been asking if she will join...“

Hestia interrupted him with a decidedly unladylike snort. “Brother, I love the girl, but it’s clear she does not want to be a vestal virgin. I’ve suspected she’d go this way for a while. I wish her happy. If she is happy with you…Then I will not stand in the way.” She knew how to fix this, suddenly; she squeezed his chin and smiled, craftiness on her face. “Stay here. I shall prove it to you. And if you leave, brother, so help me, I will give you a hell that will make anything you devise in Tartarus  _small potatoes_.” She was borrowing from Demeter again, but it seemed appropriate for the occasion.

“Small potatoes, huh?” He said; she nodded. She did not dare to turn around as she went stomping up her stairs, her feet in a hurry. She did not trust, entirely, that he would not leave early again. Thankfully, it took only a moment to find what she wished — with a triumphant air, she walked down the steps, her old sword in her hands.

“What—“

She caught, for the first time in a long time, the alarm in his voice, and shook her head. She knelt down so there were no misconceptions, held the sword out to him.

“Let me help. Give her a ring worthy of the station she will hold. Show Demeter you are serious — Use this for the base.”

“Hes…” He ran a hand down the sword; it had served her well during the war, but that time was over. Fire did not follow his stroke as it followed hers — he didn’t have the elemental alignment to quite power it, not like that, but he had to know what it was made of: titanium, one of the rarest elements in the world. One only the cyclopes had honed, and only for weapons and armor for her and her siblings. “I can't.”

“Please.” She held it further, kept her head down. “It’s at least a bit my fault you had to wait so long for a bride.” She had felt guilty for it for years; to sacrifice her long-unused sword was a small sacrifice to make this pang of long-held weight dissipate. She was a goddess of family and wanted nothing more than to help her brother. If he didn’t tell Demeter, well — she’d intercede there, if she must. But if they were happy, well, she would encourage the last realm to  _finally_  take a queen.

“Ain’t your fault.”

 “Please; you left us for so long. Let me help that flower bring you back.” She smiled, let her finger chase his down the sword; flames followed, and he withdrew his hand. “Been a good weapon for me, but the time for our fighting is over. It’s time, Hades. Please. You can reshape and return what you don’t use for the ring; a flaming dagger will suit me just as well if we ever need it.”

“Hes…” His voice was chocked, unusually tense, and she knew then that she had won. His hands, hesitantly, grabbed the sword. And Hestia thought:  _yes. This is right_.

“Take it, think about it. If you change your mind, you can give it back, and I won’t say anything to the girl. But think about it well, brother — she deserves it. I love you, brother. Love her, too. Would like to see you both happy.”

He said nothing in reply but took the sword, held it steady for a second and then put it on her table. He then grabbed her with almost dizzying speed, and for the first time in a very long time, she found herself crushed by her brother’s hugs. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the long-missed feeling, of a friend whose heart she knew from its first beat and would know until its last. Hades held her so tight that she thought he would stop her breathing, and she held him tight in return. The debt had been repayed; this time, he would leave with her support at his side.

Then he separated, nodded briskly, and strode toward the door, her sword in his hand.

She did not stop him and he did not say goodbye.

At the closing of the sixth  _noumenia_  of the eighty thousandth year of Hestia’s life, Hestia silently collected two teacups, and uttered a quick prayer to Gaia herself that things would resolve without heartache any side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter is so late. I was hoping a Friday update would work for me but unfortunately, it hasn't the last couple of weeks: last week I had to work on it (I generally have Fridays off) and this week I had been hit so hard by the rush at work that I had no time to write during the week. I am probably going to move out new updates to Monday after this, just to give myself the weekend to write. I know I'm behind on comments too, but I am hoping to catch up on them next weekend as this one has been spent either in a mad flurry of writing or otherwise studying for a major test I have next week (wish me luck). 
> 
> Next week: Post-canon, Persephone discovers something Hades has kept hidden. 
> 
> Notes:
> 
> The prodigal - a reference to a bible story about a son who leaves to make his fortune, fails and then returns back to his family; while Hades has certainly made it wealth-wise, he has not succeeded as far as starting a family, something Hestia holds as more important. 
> 
> noumenia - Noumenia was the first day of the lunar month and a date of religious observance in ancient Athens and much of Greece; it was held in honor of Hestia and the other Hellenic household gods; thus, the family dinners occurring on such a date in this fic. 
> 
> glykatzís - greek for "a person who likes sweets." Hermes and Hades both have a bit of a sweet tooth.
> 
> Five Swallowed by Time - Hestia (Hes), Demeter (Deme), Hera (Era), Hades (Dis), and Poseidon (Don), all who were swallowed by their father (literally); in this fic's universe Hestia was not swallowed as a baby but as a small child; the others were all infants. Hestia, being eldest, is basically the mother figure to the rest, even if she isn't that much older than Demeter. 
> 
> some nymphs or satyrs or perhaps lesser gods and goddesses - nymphs and satyrs were nature spirits that, while mostly immortal or at least capable of having a long life-span (several gods married nymphs), were also capable of dying. Lesser gods and goddesses would also mostly be natural spirits: gods of rivers and lakes or specific areas, who held power but not nearly the power of the Olympians did. 
> 
> Eileithyia or Hebe - Hera and Zeus' daughters, Eileithyia being the goddess of childbirth and Hebe being the goddess of youth. Hestia, perhaps somewhat wisely, does not suggest Hera bring Ares, the god of war, around for Hades' courting. 
> 
> Kourabiedes - traditional Greek biscuit cookies, which we dip in powdered sugar but the Olympian variant, in this story, is somewhat different. Apple cake is also a traditional greek dessert.
> 
> Hestia's sword - entirely made up. :) No one gives the girls weapons for fighting during the Titanomachy; Zeus got thunderbolts, Poseidon got his trident, and Hades has a helmet of invisibility. Thanks to French Toast and Sourdough for helping me figure out the weapon she'd have.


	12. Proposal [8.Seductive kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He pulled her close to him and put his chin on top of her head, too big a coward to actually look at her when he asked the most important question he ever would. “How long would you like to be down here? Stayin’ with this old man?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Apologies, I meant to post another fic this week but did not have time to finish it due to some real-life commitments. Fortunately, I had a fic in reserve to put up this week, and I will get the story about Persephone finding something Hades has hidden away out next week or the week after.]
> 
> Rating: E  
> Warning(s): explicit oral sex, handjobs

The air in front of his paperwork rippled, and Hades stilled, his pen frozen above the judgment. He squinted, trying to find the outline of whoever was borrowing his helmet. There weren’t many capable of fighting their way through to his damn armory, and of those there were only two who could get past the dog without Cerberus alerting him to the attempt: Hermes, who bribed the dog with enough honeycakes that Hades worried he’d lose his taste for his work, or Persephone, who…the dog was soft on. Foolish, of the dog. No reason for it. Just because she’d made a habit of disappearing down here every time her mother left her alone for an extended period – well. He cleared his throat.

“Reveal yourself,” he said softly. He put down the nib of the pen, stomach fluttering in warning. If there was one thing he’d learned in his time, it was that there was always a new way for things to go badly. Perhaps it wasn’t Hermes or the girl, perhaps one of the titans had evolved and had come to seek revenge. He started to pull for his bident, but then a bit of paper dropped down in front of his desk with a soft, familiar – and distinctly feminine – giggle.

That was sufficient enough to lower his guard, though he knew it was foolish to do so.

“I suppose this little thief wants me to read their list of demands,” he said, and heard another soft laugh – closer this time, her breath almost in his ear. He smoothed out the note, eyes carefully reading the text as he listened for her footfall.

_You are cordially invited to the coming of age ceremony for Persephone, Daughter of Demeter and Zeus, to be held on Olympus on the full moon in one month’s time…_

He closed his eyes, hoped he was masking the pain with a deep inhale. So, they were out of time.

He’d been wondering how long it would take Zeus to force Deme to come to heel and give her daughter up to Olympus. He felt her breath on his ear and reached out a hand, seeking her comfort, but she laughed and ducked away of him. It was selfish, his desire that Deme could somehow force Zeus to have her daughter avoid her coming of age — not that there was anything child-like about her, not anymore. She should have had her adulthood rites before Hades’ had even seen her for the first time in that garden in truth, should have been declared an adult long ago.

But she hadn’t been, and because she hadn’t been, he’d been able to court her. There’d been a few attempts by boys around her age – nothing much, nothing that could pose a threat to _him_ – but they would ramp up now. She’d be wedded before the moon waned.

And thus, abruptly, the blissful state of their relationship would be over. He’d never even worked on the ring Hes had offered him her sword to make, too torn between the question of whether it was fair to ask her to stay, or to hurt Demeter, or even if marriage was something she’d even want, at her age. He’d been satisfied with their existence in the nebulous in-between.

And now that was gone.

“If only Persephone were here so I could tell her my answer,” he said dryly while debating what, exactly, he would say. He’d been dreading this day for as long as he’d gotten to know the girl, but especially after she’d developed a habit of coming down here. Two things could happen; she either decided she’d take Hes’ pledge after all, or she accepted she’d be married off with the permission of her parents. Both were bad. If Zeus deigned to marry her to one of his many whelps, there would be, at best, only a short timeframe between her coming of age and a wedding, and he’d never see her again, after that. No bridegroom would allow it; Hades himself would not allow himself the temptation of it. No doubt Zeus would be in a hurry to have her done with, given her awkward position of being, simultaneously, the first born and bastard-born; Zeus would likely be accepting bride prices for the girl at the ceremony itself. He was sure Demeter and Zeus had an ideal bridegroom in mind already; he also knew, beyond a shadow of the doubt, that none of their ideal prospects would include him. He was too old, he knew that. Too old to give the little thing her first kiss…and yet, selfishly, he had.

And still, he wanted to take more of her than that.

He debated offering his own wager for the girl, but knowing his sister and brother would likely reject him hurt; he wanted, she wanted, but what were the odds they’d take it as anything other than a hideous joke? Marrying him was marrying a realm and Demeter wouldn’t want her to go to the Underworld, the only realm she couldn’t visit easily. Zeus surely wouldn’t want to put his bastard child on so high a throne, even if it was in another kingdom. They’d reject his bid, give her to someone else who could provide her far less than what she deserved.

The thought of her going to any other man or woman in the pantheon was unbearable; they were all fools who didn’t know – well _, know_ , her.  Wouldn’t appreciate her keen mind, her sweet smiles, and certainly not her not-so-sweet smiles, sharp as knives. They’d all cheat her like mad, and cheat on her; none of them cared about her beyond her admittedly very pretty face. She would be unsatisfied, and so would he, to see her pine after those idiots for all eternity. He’d seen it happen to Hera and he hated the thought that it might happen to her, too. 

The ideal would be to marry her to a mortal, or a demigod of some sort; anything that died would be sublime. Marrying her off to a mortal would be harder on her, granted, but he’d be able to outwait a mortal and her mourning period.  Once the mortal passed, no one would think of them marrying as any kind of scandal; she’d be in her hundreds by then, and him, well, still in his thousands. But despite the circumstances of her birth, it was unlikely. She wasn’t even half-mortal, and therefore, still too powerful a thing to be married off to anything less than a god or goddess.

The other option, if she took sis' pledge – which Deme was certainly trying to steer her toward – well, that wouldn’t be any better. She’d begged for him to finally take her often enough that he knew Persephone was nowhere near as disinterested in men as her half-sisters were, a truth that was obvious to everyone but Demeter herself – Even Hes had picked up on it. He’d be unsatisfied if she went that route, but she’d be eternally longing too, and he couldn’t live with them _both_ being unhappy.

“She’s waiting for his answer,” his girl crooned, jolting him out of his reverie; the papers moved on his desk and he could tell from the sound that she had sat right in front of him. It took all his control not to reach out to her.

“I don’t see her,” he said, going for his pen and brushing her knee as he did so. He felt his cheeks peak into a hot blush: she’d come wearing something damn short if he could touch that intimate a part of her. “Pardon.”

“No offense was taken,” she said, in the low and growly voice she generally only had after he’d teased her by withholding his kisses. He never should have taken things to that level; he couldn’t go back on it now. Thinking about their last meeting – her in his lap, sitting in Elysian paradise, his lips swollen from a woman who was growling his name and begging him not to stop between bevies of kisses – he swallowed. No, he’d badly erred. He’d led her on far too far, and now she was nearly gone and he realized, too late, how attached he’d become. He was debating making her a ring. He was debating putting a _crown_ on her.

“You’re really thinking about it, uncle. Don’t you know it's rude to keep a girl in such suspense?”

He stared at her – or where he assumed she was. The smart thing to do would be to say no, to point out he’d never attended any of her numerous half-sibling’s ceremonies and to do so for her would be unwise. She deserved a younger god who wasn’t chained to a realm everyone hated.

Except her, of course. She’d said she liked it here, didn’t she? Visited every moment she could, unless he went up to the surface for her first. Fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

“Yes,” he said softly and felt the sword of Damocles sink deep into his skull.

“Yes!” She cried out and clapped; he smiled despite his melancholy. He’d never felt such pleasure at pleasing anyone else. Even without seeing her, he knew the smile on her face must be something brilliant. He felt her shift, her hands moving onto his shoulders and then the comforting weight of her body in his lap as she slowly crawled into his arms.

He should have pushed her away; didn’t. Her hands found his face and then he felt the cool iron of his own helm slide over his nose. He knew she’d kiss him before she did, her invisible lips making contact with his. He didn’t have a hope of seeing her but closed his eyes anyway, the moment too holy and too profane to experience with his eyes open. She was a sweet kisser, though he supposed it wasn’t a surprise he found her kisses so pleasing, given that every kiss she’d ever given, she’d given to him.  Fates. She deserved better.

Bur craven fool he was, he didn’t stop himself from leaning into it, trying to find her lips. It was strange, seeing his own helm used against him. He had used it to cut throats, once, long ago; she used it for something more romantic than that, though just as brutal, her kisses stinging in ways that hurt as much as they healed. He should have stopped it. He didn’t.

Instead, she deepened the kiss and he sighed into her, zero resistance; her arms closed around his neck and he dropped all intention of resistance, wrapping his arms around what he hoped was her back.

He made contact with soft skin.  Skin far further south than what he thought it should be. He paused, separated his mouth from hers. _Wait_.  He dragged his hands lower in a way that made the woman on his lap shiver. Didn’t hit a single scrap of cloth the whole way down. His eyes widened.

“Persephone--" He heard her laughter, not so innocent now. Her mouth closed over his again as his brain revolted, the facts of the situation clashing in his head: out of time; naked woman on his lap; someone else's wife on his lap, soon enough; Zeus and Demeter; too old, too young, too powerful, too powerless; naked Persephone; naked Persephone _on his lap_ kissing his cheek and pressing her breasts into his chest. Gods above help him, he couldn’t tell her no. He growled and yanked off his helmet in one smooth motion, tossing it in the corner.

Woman really wasn’t wearing a damned stitch of clothing.

She stared down at him, an intensity to her eyes that made him instantly hard as iron without even bothering to look past her neck.  “Oh, Persephone…” He sighed and pressed his forehead to hers. He shut his eyes, trying to figure out what to do.

“Please,” she whispered, her mouth on his neck, raining kisses that burned in his ichor, riotous blood coursing under her skilled little mouth. “Please.” There was desperation in her voice, hidden sadness that wavered underneath the kisses. So, she knew, too, how limited their time was. It wasn’t surprising; she was a smart little thing, wicked and bright in equal measure. But in so many ways, it was worse. She knew they wouldn’t be allowed to be together, and wanted him anyway, damn the consequences. She was a brave little woman, so brave; a fine warrior wife.

But not his.  

Her lips nipped harder on his neck as her hand went to his robes, trying to slip them from his shoulders. “Please…”

“Where are your clothes?” He ground out, as her mouth made short work of his ear. He should put distance between them; didn’t. “Persephone…”

“I want you,” she whispered, turning what was left of his brain to flames and little else. “Please, Hades, let us share… a bit of happiness. Please don’t reject me, not this time.”

Her hands succeeded in throwing open his robe and he did nothing to stop her from leaning into his chest. He helped her push it off his shoulders, let it go fluttering down to pool at his hips. Her eyes flittered down, over his scars older than she was, over the tattoo he’d carried as a reminder of the titanomarchy for longer than she’d been alive. A tattoo she’d asked him about the day he’d first kissed her, her hands walking own the bricks of it. She swallowed at the sight, and he saw the barest trace of virginal nerves light her eyes for half a second; then it was gone, determination replacing it. She shifted and swallowed up the space between them; his still clothed erection even more frustrated by the feel of what lay between her thighs. He dared to glance down, though it was unbecoming of him to do so; saw the soft roundness of her shoulders and the pert breasts of a young woman. He couldn’t bring himself to look down further and forced himself to look away.

“Your clothes,” he said, grinding each syllable out between what felt like torment beyond anything he’d ever measured out to the Titans; her hips were moving on him now, desperate little rocking movements, her cunt so close he could touch it if he wanted to and he was very, _very_ aware of how much he wanted to.

“The armory, of course. How was I to know if the helmet would work if I had clothes on?” She muttered, deflecting. She kissed his cheek for a moment, then gazed up at him with a soft, and sad, smile. “It wasn’t as if I could ask you. It would spoil the surprise.”

“It does.” He said nothing else, jaw stubbornly shut, and her fingers slid down it as if she could unlock all his secrets with her small little fingers. It scared him that if anyone could, he could. She stared at his rocky old face, studying him carefully. She frowned.

“Am I makin’ a fool of myself coming here, uncle?” she whispered, and he quailed. He knew he should let her go; be easier to let her go, let her be heartbroken. He should have let her take the helm and slip back to the armory. He didn’t. His mouth was full of venom, and she was damn well an adult now. He pulled her face back to his and kissed her, rough, and tried to put all the emotions he had for her into his sting, because he’d never been good at words: the sadness, the sweetness, the wish for so many more warm nights where he’d have been content forever just to hold her hand. She leaned into it, whimpering against his skin as he injected her full of his venom.

“No,” he said when they came up for air; he wasn’t sure if he was tellin’ her the answer to her question or if he was tellin’ her to go, but he found his lips sayin’ it again and again as she kissed every inch of his skin she could reach. “No, no.”

“Mama wants me to take the oath but  I…I want you,” she whispered, like this was her most secret confession, and he kissed her then, a right and proper kiss, a claiming kiss, a king’s kiss. “You…You gonna ask for my hand?” She asked, soft and almost breathless.

“I –“ he swallowed. “You know I’m too old to play suitor for you. They would laugh us right out off of Olympus.” He only had Hes in his corner; he appreciated Hes, but conflict was never her forte. He cupped her cheek. “Until today, you didn’t even wanna tell yer mama about us on account of...” He swallowed. “Just too many years between—“

“You sure don’t feel too old,” she whispered; her hands tried to undo the final layer of his clothing but stumbled; still, she got too close to success and his traitorous cock twitched against her hands, eager to burst out from its confinement. “Feel downright youthful, down here.”

“I am not dead yet,” he deadpanned, but he knew this conversation should be. He put his hands over hers, stilled her attempts. He couldn’t do this. Wanted to, but no; there were some things that were truly unfair to her. It was bad enough he’d stolen her first kisses; he couldn’t take her virginity with it. Some firsts were meant to be shared with one’s spouse.

He wouldn’t be hers, no matter how much he wanted to be.  

“Please…” She muttered. “Even if it’s just once, take me and then I’ll-I’ll take auntie’s oath, but…I want your co—“

“It ain’t gonna be just once,” he growled. No use in lying; if he gave in, he’d give in again. Just like the kisses; they were both insatiable around one another. He fucked her once, he damn well wouldn’t stop. “Even if, somehow, we did manage to be satisfied with _once_ — suppose I get you pregnant, girl? You’re a fertility goddess and the fates told ya if you came to join me, we’d create…” he tried to remember the odd name she’d told him, so long ago. “Winter. You take the oath and show up pregnant later? There are repercussions for that, and none of them — none of them are happy. Not for you or me.”  At a minimum, she’d get thrown out of Hestia’s order, and Olympus too, forced to live eternally wandering as an outcast with a babe he’d never be allowed to hold; at its worst, she and his infant would be rendered mortal and cut away from him, and the only upside there would be that he’d get their souls at some point when they died. But it wasn’t like one could marry a shade, and he damn well preferred she be alive and well when…. when he _married_ her…

He realized, with a terrible start, how badly he did _want_ to marry her. He did. He wanted her to be his wife. His _wife._ He looked at her keenly, realizing she had asked for the same. She knew all the reasons just as well as he did and yet – she had _asked_ him to put in a bid. She wanted to be married _to him._ She wanted him to ask her daddy for her hand. And she was bright enough she would know damn well he’d win that bid on bride price. She _wanted_ to be his little wife. His _wife_! He frowned. How much would it cost, to earn the right to have her hand? There were certain things he had more of than Zeus –Demeter might not bend, but Zeus, perhaps, could. Divide and conquer.

…Was he seriously considering this?

He looked down, lost as he’d ever felt, a million emotions caterwauling through him desperately searching for the right answer. He wanted her. She wanted him, would be willing to debase herself just to have him once. She grabbed his cheek and he shivered as he looked up at her beautiful face.

A soft red blush floated past her light brown cheeks. “Uncle, it ain’t that I only wanna do this once. It’s that — if I ain’t gonna be yours, I don’t want to be anyone else’s. That ain’t fair to us, or them. Pa always crept ‘round and maybe it made him happy, but it hurt my ma bad. I can’t do that to someone else. My heart is…spoken for and that’s just…how it is.” _Spoken for._ Smart woman, his girl. It was true, wasn’t it?  He didn’t want anyone else, and she didn’t either. Didn’t want to take the oath, and didn’t want to go without him. What option did they have left but…?

 _Madness_.

He pulled her close to him and put his chin on top of her head, too big a coward to actually look at her when he asked the most important question he ever would. “How – how long would you like to be down here? Stayin’ with this old man?”

“You think I show up _naked_ on a man’s lap if I ain’t interested in a forever thing with him?” She growled and wiggled against him hard enough that he was pretty sure _she_ was the lord of the dead and _he_ was the one in Tartarus because he was in agony and his heart was about to explode into a thousand pieces.

“Alright,” he said. “Alright, alright.” He closed his eyes. She let him sit like that a long minute, and he was thankful she didn’t ask what he meant by it. He would try; Zeus would probably laugh in his face but so be it.

“How long is your mama gonna be out tonight?” He asked; he knew she wouldn’t have come down here if she’d had any chance of getting caught stepping out. Persephone was bold, but she wasn’t a fool. She pulled back, looking at him carefully.

“She’s talking to Auntie Hestia about party prep on Olympus, so one night at least.” She’d burned most of that crossing down to him, he knew, and would burn more racing back. She knew, too; she winced and laughed nervously. “Least a couple of hours I’d say. Maybe a couple more, if we’re really lucky.” He stroked her hair and watched as she broke into a wide — and shy — smile. “Does this mean…?”

He didn’t answer; didn’t mistake the note of hope in her voice, either. He couldn’t promise success; it was very likely Zeus would laugh his ass off. But…Zeus owed him. He’d never challenged the man’s dominance and he damn well could. Never asked for anything but what he’d drawn. His campaign would be a long shot, but…His hands dug tighter into her hips. He could make the man see reason, either through bribery or through sheer obstinance, Hades would wear his brother down long enough that he’d give this one girl to him.

What was one girl to the union of the realms, after all? A simple cost of…doing business, as they said.  

He reached past her, put the inkwell into his desk drawer.  Shoved the rest of his scrolls off of his desk, letting them fall into a clatter at the end of the table. He felt a pinch of regret at the thought of all the scrolls he’d have to sort but — No matter. The dead could wait. He grabbed her and she yelped in surprise as he put her on the recently barred desk.

“What?” She licked her lips, her breath coming in a little heavy. “What happens now?”

“Lay back,” he growled. 

She did, immediately; her head nearly — but not quite — bouncing off the end of his desk in obedience so trusting it made his heart nearly skip a beat. Her long curls fluttered down over the front of his desk and he felt a pang that it was a bit uncomfortable, perhaps, but he knew if he stopped here to take her to his room, he’d find too many reasons not to do this. And he _wanted_ to do this.

 He stared at her there, her body so recently revealed, and hesitantly touched her knee. She jumped. Now that they were here at the final crossing, neither of them seemed to quite realize what to do; she covered her breasts shyly with her hands, though it did not take away from the fact she was naked as the day she was born. She was staring at him, biting her lower lip – a little nervous after all. He stood, pulled what was left of his disheveled tunic away from him, disrobing in one quick step. He stepped out of his clothing and heard her breath hitch, knew he was crossing far too many barriers to ever go back to just being the uncle who had little garden chats with her, asking about her wisteria and her lemon-blossoms.

“I’m askin’ for ya,” he said, softly. He let his hand go down her thigh and ignored how wrong it looked, pale and dry and _old_ , curled up against her thigh. Selfish, selfish man. There was a reason, he thought, the fates had denied him Olympus.

And maybe this was it.

“Oh,” she said, and he watched from above her, the slow smile that overtook her face until it was brighter than anything else in the underworld. He smiled down at her, the intimacy of the moment almost so uncomfortable he wanted to take her and bury her in his arms, have her here and just…never leave her.

Such a dangerous little woman.  He’d go to war for her, if he had to.

“Don’t get too excited.” She held out a hand for him and he took it, kissed her hand. “I can’t promise he’ll listen. Him or your mama.” Demeter was going to be a lost cause, he knew; his sister would never think of her daughter being happy down here. Wedding her daughter, he’d be killing any hopes of ever having a proper relationship with his sister again, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.  “Might be a bit of a …unsanctioned union, you and I. Might have to fight for it.”

“I know.” She said. “But I’m…I’m so happy you’ll ask.”

“I pray that I will keep you so happy as your…husband,” he murmured, the word tasting unbelievably rare and strange; he leaned over her, hands on the edge of his desk, and tried to ignore how much his instincts demanded he guide himself inside of her. She did not tense; her arms went to his hips, and her eyes went…down. And stayed down. It occurred to him, dimly, that he was likely the first male she’d ever seen naked, and certainly the only man she’d allowed to press against her belly like this. Demeter hadn’t taken another lover after Poseidon, so far as he knew, and his other brother had all but abandoned the girl after her birth in favor of the sister who has born him a son; he watched as she made a study of him in the most elemental sense. She bit her lips. He raised an eyebrow and when she returned to looking at his face, she giggled.

“That’s quite the stamen, isn’t it?” He blushed bright crimson, felt the ichor in him warring between heading to his head or his cock.

“Just…what it looks like, in our kind.” He hadn’t given it much thought.  

She said nothing, just smirked and reached out a hand between them. He grunted, not bothering to hide the surprise on his face as she glided her hand down his cock. “You’re so warm...”  She watched his face as she continued to stroke him, and he could hide nothing of how it felt. So bold, his girl, and her hands were so very soft and he had wanted this _so very long_ …He let his eyes slide closed, let himself thrust slightly against the hand that was touching him. Gods.

She _wanted_ to _touch_ him. Liked it even! Wasn’t scared at all. _Volunteered._

He _was_ going to marry her. Damn Zeus and damn Demeter if it came down to it; the Underworld could be its own nation, if they challenged him on this. He was king and if he wanted her to be his bride, she would be, end of story. It would be better to have permission, but… Stars, if he had to take her, he would. He felt his heartbeat speed up watching her, and it wasn’t just the hand that was, for all its inexperience, magnificently exploring him.

She formed a fist around him, pumping him with a halting rhythm and he hissed.

“This good?” She asked; he shivered, then closed the space between them, trapping her hand there. “Oh!”

He used his free hand to grab her face and roughly turn her toward him. He answered her with a kiss, a rougher one than he wanted it to be but he was already shaking, his control dangerously close to gone. She hadn’t even been born the last time he’d done this.  She leaned into the kiss, hungry; deepened it and ran her leg over his hips. He groaned something unintelligible into her lips as he thrust against her; close already, too close. He wasn’t going to stain her skin with his release, not yet anyway.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice so raw and so passionate he nearly did; he pulled away to look at her. “I want…I’m ready.” She grabbed his hand, pulled it down to her soft cunt and his fingers twitched; she was wet already, wet and he hadn’t touched her, he… he kissed her again, then again.

He pulled her hand back, put both of them against her head. She swallowed and smiled. “Come on. Do it.”

“I meant what I said,” he said, and his voice shook and his limbs were shaking with it. He wanted to, badly, but if the fates said they would make a child with their union, he was going to make damn well sure their child wasn’t going to grow up an isolated bastard-born. He owed her that, regardless of how much he wanted her _._ He let go of her hands, unable to hold her down and keep himself up at the same time. She smiled at him, stroked his arm. “I’m not fucking you, not til I get your hand. Not taking a chance of making things difficult for ya…And you deserve…” _Better than me_ , he thought, but didn’t say. “You deserve to have a proper weddin’ night. And I’ll give you that, if you want it. But…” He leaned down on top of her; so small, this woman, but so bold. He kissed her hard, claiming her mouth, then trailed heavy kisses down her neck, felt her panting in response.

“But…?” She wiggled against him, her hands holding onto his sweaty hair.

“Well, let’s just say anyone who calls you Kore…that’s just gonna be a title clinging to you by the barest elements of what we call a _technicality_ after tonight.” He pressed a soft trail of kisses down her neck, dared to put his mouth over one of her breasts and lathe it with his tongue. She all but bolted clean off the table onto him and he repeated it several times, enjoying the way she twisted in his arms. So soft, so bold, so very, very willing! His mate, this woman, his _mate!_

“Oh,” she shuddered; he moved on, wasted little time until he went further south, his tongue lathing at her belly button and making her jump up again. Such a sensitive little woman. His soon-to-be _wife._

“So what we’re gonna do is…” He kissed downward, following a spare little treasure trail of soft curly brown hairs. “We’ll have some fun together, celebrate our upcoming nuptials a bit. Then I'm gonna ask for you. Gonna argue with your parents 'til I’m blue in the face and then, yes or no, well, then…”

“Then?” She bit her lips.

“Then I’m gonna marry ya,” he whispered into her belly, and felt her hand blindly grope for his face, slowly push him up toward her eyes. He had so many thoughts he did not dare to hope to say — _he’d put a crown on her, put a child in her, raise a whole damn empire just for her._

“Yes,” she growled. “You damn better.”

“I don’t make empty promises,” he said. He fell down into his chair behind him because he damn well wasn’t strong enough to stand after telling her that she was going to be _his_. “You ever touch yourself…?”

She nodded, but wouldn’t speak out loud, and he almost laughed, having finally found the one thing her loud mouth wouldn’t say. “Show me,” he whispered, softly. “How you like it. So I can…”

He couldn’t stop his hand from drifting to his cock, stroking it as he watched her move her fingers; she didn’t look at him, perhaps a bit embarrassed. He watched carefully: she spread herself open.  Her fingers glided past the hood of her clitoris, just slow glances, never quite hitting it; sensitive there, too. He squeezed his cock; she moved again, and again, tracing small circles around her clit. He watched in rapt fascination. “How long…?” She asked after a moment, her cheeks so red.

He didn’t bother to answer in words, just leaned forward, abandoned his cock and let his fingers replace her own. “You tell me if you don’t like anything or it hurts,” he grunted; he wasn’t a great love smith, that much was true. Not like he had a lot of _opportunities_. Not like he particularly wanted them, either. Until now. She was so soft and wet and he shuddered overcome by the sensation of actually touching her like this; he shuddered more when she started to move her hips in response to it. The soft wet noises of her cunt told him as much as her small _oh_ noises that she liked his fingers well enough.

He let his free hand trail a little lower, down to the entrance; she was small there, not a surprise given she’d never been with a man. Knowing it was a sacred thing, he let one finger slide into her.  Tight; he watched her face carefully as he stroked inside of her, mapping out what made her move against his palm. Didn’t take too long; he found a spot inside her that made her squirm against him and mercilessly attacked it, circling it repeatedly, only to leave to caress the nub on top.

She moaned; he took a moment to look at how beautiful she was, taking her to the brink with his fingers before withdrawing entirely. His cock begged for release; he took one hand away, squeezed himself for a moment and she bolted half up.

“What? Why did you stop?”

 “Just…savoring the moment.” He held her like that for a few moments, just carefully watching her as he pressed his fingers between her legs. She was a beautiful thing, and he longed to taste her. He leaned down closer, pressed a soft kiss to her mound, then parted his lips with his fingers. He took a soft breath of her, huffed at her scent and swallowed. He looked up at her; she looked down at him, drawing in her breath.

“If you don’t like what I’m doing, tell me,” he murmured, then dove down for a long lick between her legs. He tried to make her comfortable. It was perhaps a sign of weakness, to pleasure her with his tongue instead of his cock but he rising moans of her breath told him she certainly did not think of him as less of a man for this – and her taste was, _gods_.

He lapped at her like a man possessed.

“Mm,” she murmured, and her hand went to his hair then quickly withdrew, as if she’d gone too far. He reached out clumsily and grabbed it, putting it back.  

“Don’t tug,” he ground out, then dived back down into her, experimenting a bit more. She hissed as his finger tried to circle her entrance while his tongue served her food; he backed off with his mouth, took a deep breath just watching as his finger circled the tip of her clitoral hood and then back down.

Then he dove back down on her, and the wail she made – _fates._

He fell into a pattern, licking in swift vertical swipes as her breathing went faster and faster; she was positively drenched after a few minutes, and he grinned in sheer male pride as he sucked lightly on the skin just above her clit. She tasted like ambrosia and gods…she was going to be his wife. He’d taste her forever and he didn’t think himself capable of growing tired of it.

“Oh!” she murmured, barely a groan; one of her hands went to her breast and he damn near came from the sight of it, her wracked with pleasure and seeking more. Her fingers tightened in his hair as he broached her clit very lightly; he ignored his cock’s pounding desire to slide in her. _Patience._

“Hades!” she cried out; her thighs slid closed around his mouth. He kept his focus on her; pushed her legs apart lightly enough that he could slide one finger into her, slowly find the spot inside that he’d found earlier and she whimpered. He glanced up, found her staring down at him with nothing but love and pleasure upon her lips. He watched, regretting nothing, as he put his lips over her clit, kissing it softly then intensifying his routine, adding a second finger that just barely fit her – _fates_! – and long swipes of his tongue. She emitted a high wail as he took her to her brink and he did not dare to stop, taking her over the edge as she shook in his arms.  She got out what might have been the first half of his name, might have been just been a wordless shout before dissolving into convulsing around him, her liquids coating his tongue with something far sweeter than honey.

He held her tight as he could, licking aftershocks out of her until she pressed her hand to his forehead and pushed him back. “Up,” she huffed; he obeyed, sliding back into his chair with an exhausted huff.

She was back in his lap before he could catch his breath. “I love you,” she whispered, and he shut his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. “Meant to tell ya that for so long, but…”

He nodded and kissed at her neck, her shoulder. He slid her high enough to move his mouth onto her breast. He suckled her and she whimpered; so perfect, her breasts, and even more perfect, her face, scrunched up in pleasure and mewling for him, for _him_.  

“I…I want to please you,” she murmured, blushing. She wiggled away from him, standing awkwardly beside him. “How do I?”

“Not necessary,” he grumbled. He could always take care of himself once she was gone.

“It is. Please.” She wrapped her fingers around his cock. “You just had my pussy in your face; ain’t time to be shy. Show me.”

“Alright.” Feeling wholly ridiculous, he wrapped his hand around her own, showing her how he liked it. “Start slow.” She knit her brow as she moved his cock, her eyes focused wholly on him.

He shuddered under her; even slow, even inexperienced, she was good at this.  He was all too ready to have her. He listened to the sounds of it, the slick turn of her hand; he was still damnably wet from rubbing against her pedals. “Tell me if I do it wrong,” she murmured. He shook his head and almost laughed, wondering if she knew what exquisite torture her little hands were.

“You’re doin’ good. Real good. Ain’t gonna last too long,” he murmured.

“Good,” she growled. Then she kissed him. He whimpered and bucked against her hand, the reflex pushing him against her. His hand touched her cheek, pulling her close. Her hand on him sped up, though he didn’t ask; he kissed her hard and thrust against her, white-hot heat flowing through him, and her free arm gripped his hair, pulling him into the kiss.

“Come on,” she growled, and damn did he love her. Her hands moved faster, his hips with them, and he was in the moment enough he did not think of the weakness of his clinging to her, seeking his comfort in her. “Come for me,,” she called between kisses, and then her tongue was on his mouth and his hands were in her _hair_ and he was — he was close, too close, needed to warn her –

“Husband,” she whispered onto his lips; he gasped, raggedly, as she took him over the edge, and he was not sure if it was her words or her hands but she _had_ made him come and come hard – with little more than the flick of her hand.

“Oh,” she muttered, laughing, and he looked down to see he’d well and truly painted her belly.

“I—“ he grabbed his shirt and said nothing, feeling the ichor rush from his cock to his head. Foolish. He grabbed his tunic, trying to find something to wipe her off with, but she shook her head. She dabbed her finger in a bit of it, bringing it to her mouth, and he stopped. She smiled at him vexingly, and it took all his admittedly limited control to not have her then and now.

“You taste just fine,” she said, and his heart damn near thundered out of his chest, so sick was he with love for her. _My wife_ , he thought. _This woman is gonna be my wife_.

“That was…somethin’.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and he dabbed the towel on her stomach, wiping off the evidence.

“It was,” he agreed, looking up at her. “…Lover,” he tried out, figuring she needed a pet-name. Lover. One who loves. They _loved_. Fates above, they were in _love._ How had that happened?

She held him in a tight hug and he knew, as she knew, that their time was running out; Demeter would likely be back soon. “I do love you,” she whispered in his ear, and he nodded, swallowed. He wished he had her talents, wished it was easier for him to tell her the same. He pulled her closer and forced himself to look in her eyes.

“I love you, too,” he said, and every bit of discomfort he felt in saying it was worth it for the way she smiled in response. “I can’t wait ‘til I wife ya.”

She kissed his cheek and he thought: _Yes_. _This is right_. “I should go,” she muttered.

“I know. Not yet, though.” He pulled her head to his and kissed her, long and slow and sweet. The sort of kiss he’d started out with long ago, and now, well…and now they would always have this, this kiss, this love. She tried to stand but he stood with her, pressed himself against her in an embrace that he never, ever wanted to leave.

“You tryin’ to seduce me?” She giggled, as they came up for air. He shook his head and dove back for a few more kisses: short, then long, then her _tongue_ pushing its way back into his mouth — bold thing, his soon-to-be wife. He dove to kiss her lovely neck, her skin so soft, so beautiful. “If you’re tryin’ to seduce me, it is workin’,” she murmured, and he knew he could have her then and there and nearly, nearly did.

But…they did not have time to do it properly. He pulled her tight and held her there. “I’m a gentleman,” he said, then, when she scoffed, he kissed her. “Trust me darlin’…won’t be much longer.”

“How long?”

“We’ll see. I’ll talk to your daddy after you run home to mama. I’ll let you know what he says.” He had a feeling it might not be positive, then brushed the feeling away. It didn’t matter. Whatever Zeus said, it wasn’t going to deter him from having this beautiful woman; if Zeus said no, he’d grab her and take her down and just wait. The underworld could be self-sufficient. The up-top? Well, that was a more complicated system. They needed him more than he needed any one of them but _her._

“Don’t make it long, _lover_ ,” she growled, giving him a look that made him wonder which of them was really in control here. “I ain’t patient.”

“Who said I was?” He growled back and she laughed. “Get your clothes, Persephone. I’ll take you home.” She must have known how low on time they were, for she merely nodded. Her hand grabbed the helmet and she disappeared from his view. A few minutes later, she with a bundle of cloth in her hands. He helped her into her dress quickly, marveling at each bit of her creamy brown skin before sealing it away underneath the layers of linen and cotton. It was a pity, he thought; now that he’d seen her without her clothing, the thought of seeing her that way again was…distracting. He did not remember being this preoccupied, but then, the little thing was a terrible blaze in his blood.

He pulled on his own clothing carefully, dressing as best he could. She looked at him oddly. “You’re being awfully fussy.”

“Your father tends to stand on ceremony.” She shot him an incredulous look and he smiled back. “I’m not wasting any more time.” She wanted him, she would have him. She would have to have him before she changed her mind, before he allowed logic to creep into all the spaces where doubt could fester.

He caught the soft frown she tried to hide, looking down. “As long as you’re sure you want…?”

“I’ve _wanted_ since I asked for that kiss in mama’s garden,” she ground out, and he squeezed her hands; no point in denying it, he had wanted her too. “Just…nervous. Pa…” She trailed off, but he knew. Her father had a lot of power. Her father had also abandoned her a long time ago. He summoned a gift from the kitchen, thinking it couldn’t hurt; a bottle of wine, a good one. He tucked it into his belt and she looked up at him, questioning.

“Your father also has a taste for expensive tastes,” he murmured.

She nodded; they spoke little on the way back up to the surface, both, he suspected, wondering just what would come from these negotiations. She grabbed at his hand and smiled gladly, and his heart beat faster; it was enough, he thought, to walk at her side. They didn’t need words.

Despite it being a long walk, it seemed to go by in seconds, and before he knew it, they were back at Demeter’s old country home. They were still alone: the house was dark and cold as the underworld, and Demeter would not have let that stand had she been around at all. His sister had never been comfortable with stillness, always poking at something, always humming or singing or clucking about. He opened the door and Persephone frowned as he followed her in. “Hades?”

“Yes, lover?” He pressed a kiss to her lips and felt her pull back; she put her hands over his face and looked at him, a careful study.

 “You will come for me?” She asked.

“I will. Wait for me.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, and closed his eyes, gathering his courage. He took a deep huff of her scent, and then he turned his heel, heading upwards to the one place he hated to travel beyond all others.

Olympus. It was easy enough to get there; he still remembered the roads to it from his youth, and doubted Zeus had changed the layout enough to get him lost. He avoided the main road up the mountain, not wanting to run into Demeter; instead, he took a path through the caves that dotted the old mountain and soon found himself in what had been his _mitera’s_ peacock garden— and now, he supposed, Hera’s peacock garden. He ignored the birds as they clucked, following the path toward the highest point of the mountain. It was there, and only there, he knew, where Zeus would have his home.

Father had been much the same, once.

He found him without much preamble; sitting on his own throne, Zeus stared up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise as Hades genuflected in loyalty. “Hello, brother.”

“Brother,” he said.

They stared at one another for a long moment as Hades rose. Hades tried to take in his brother’s mood: his blue eyes looked unbothered, more curious than anything else. Zeus' eyes flickered over him, and Hades knew he was evaluating Hades’ formal outfit, his graying temples. After a long moment, he smiled. “Rare to have you grace us with your presence here, brother. Much less at this hour.”

He blinked, then dimly realized that it was evening; of course it was. “I hope I am not interrupting. My realm does not have sunshine to keep track of our hours.”

“Of course,” Zeus said, and did not hide the pity in his voice. There but for the grace of the draw went he. Truthfully, Hades had never minded the darkness. “And no, you are not an interruption. All is well?”

“Very well,” he smiled, though he knew it looked poor upon him. Zeus had received most of the charm and Poseidon had taken what was left, and his smiles were weak things in comparison. “And yourself?”

“Oh, there are a million little disasters, and a million little pleasures, too,” Zeus laughed. “Same as ever, brother. Have you come only for a chat? I will gather Hera, grab you some wine — “

“Actually, I came here with a purpose in mind,” he interrupted, waving a hand. “Can we speak in your office? This is…” He debated how to say it without encouraging gossip. “A private matter.”

Zeus raised his eyebrows clear to the top of his head and Hades realized, with some discomfort, that the girl had inherited this from her father. “Of course,” he said. “Follow me, brother.”

He walked behind him, taking in Zeus’ halls. Gilt and gold, not a surprise; they both had their creature comforts. Zeus, of course, had to pay for his. He watched Zeus’ feet as he stepped. There wasn’t a bit of anxiety in the man, and Hades wondered how much of his purpose Zeus already knew. Zeus was known for having all-seeing eyes.

“This way,” he said, taking him down another long and elaborate corridor; he’d pulled dad’s old artwork off the walls, Hades realized. Supposed that was his right, wasn’t like Hades had saved much of Iapetus’ old work either.

He opened the door to his office and bid Hades enter; he did. The office was light, airy and the opposite of Hades’ own. Leather chairs that still squeaked when Hades sat in one; beige woods and absolutely no papyrus or vellum anywhere. He snorted. Supposed Zeus didn’t have the people necessary to require _paperwork_.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Zeus reached under the desk, pulled out a jar of walnuts — Hades took one. He pulled the cask of his own wine out from under his robes, smiling.

“Ah, and this is why you are my _favorite_ brother,” Zeus said; another brief foray underneath his table produced two goblets; he broke the seal and poured each a glass. “So tell me Aidoneus, why have you come to my shores? You have certainly piqued my curiosity.”

“Well, brother…” He paused to take a drink for courage, flickered his eyes toward the door to ensure none of his brother’s younger whelps were hanging about the doors. “I’ve decided to take myself a bride.”

“Really?” Zeus drawled, eyebrows up high as he smothered a badly-hidden cough in his glass. “Oh, I’d caution you against that, with all due respect, your grace,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve had plenty of women in my life —“

“Oh, I am more than aware. I house a good deal of them.” Hades let a bit of the acid drip into his mouth, and Zeus, fickle as he often was, shrugged.

“My point is, brother, you’ve been wise thus far not to have a Hera sniffing after your affairs. It isn’t as if you need a political alliance — you own as large a share as any of us. Perhaps larger, in the end.” There was a subtle threat to his wording, and Hades nodded but said nothing. If Zeus felt threatened by his estate so be it. No reason to rub it in nor deny it.

“It is not political. It is…for love.” It sounded ridiculous even to his lips and Zeus wasted no time laughing himself.

“For love? Some Stygian maid finally captured your heart? All these years, Hades, and I thought there was nothing held close to your chest but facts and figures.”

“Not a stygian nymph, no. I would not come to you for that, and you know it.” He took another deep sip of his drink and Zeus chuckled.

“Well,” Zeus said nothing else, merely held out his now empty cup for a refill. Cheapskate. Well, no matter. He held out his hand, dripped the wine out into Zeus’ cup. Zeus didn’t continue on, which left it to Hades to tip his hand; damnable man. He was as smart as the rest of them and therein lay the trouble, Hades thought.

Well, best to say it plain.

“I want your first-born daughter by Demeter, Persephone. As my bride. And Queen.” Coward that he was, he didn’t look at Zeus, looking down to pull out the invitation that Persephone had dropped off. It still carried her soft scent and if his nose twitched a bit as he unfolded it, Zeus did not comment on it.

Did not comment on any of it, in fact; he’d expected spluttering or laughing. Instead, when he found the courage to look up again, his invitation in his hand, he found his brother sitting very, very still.

“My daughter.”

“Yes.”

“Through Demeter?”

“Yes.”

“As your bride. And queen,” he said quickly, waving a hand in annoyance as if Hades were about to correct him.

“Yes. She invited me to her coming of age. I am declaring my interest in negotiating her brideprice.” He left his own threat unspoken, that his interest was just as good as his declaration that she was his. No god could outbid him on it.

“I see.” Zeus leaned forward carefully, drummed his fingers on the table-top, but offered no reply. Hades stared down at him and refused to flinch. “A love match, you say? Your love, or hers?”

“Both.”

“Oh, brother.” He leaned back and snorted. “You’ll be lucky if Demeter doesn’t want to take a sickle to your balls for this.”

He winced. “I know.”

“I had to fight tooth and nail for three years with that woman to have her daughter declared an adult, you know.  Firstborn, yet a good gaggle of my children have taken their adulthood rites ahead of her. Not even a position left at the table for her, anymore.”

“There is room for her in my house. Demeter may not be happy of it but surely Hera would be relieved if you sent her to my bed? It is a high position for her. Worthy of a first-born.” Zeus nodded, considering. Good. “Frankly I’m surprised to hear you’re such a stickler for her ceremony, Zeus. I’ve never thought birth order mattered much.” His smile was full of knives, and intentionally so.

“Maybe it doesn’t.” He took a sip of his wine and changed the subject. “I do assume, of course, Demeter doesn’t know about your interest in her girl…?”

“She does not.” Very little point in denying it. “I did not think it worth upsetting her until…”

“Until you come to me reeking of her sweat? You smell like a salad.” He didn't deny it. Zeus swallowed what was left in his cup and held out the goblet again. Hades raised his brows. “For the amount of trouble you will cause me with this, brother, you should be less stingy with the good stuff.”

His heart pounded in his chest so loudly he dared barely to breathe as he poured a third drink. “Then…you will — let me have her?”

“She has been sneaking your way for years. I did assume she wasn’t petting the _dog_.” Zeus smiled, but it was not entirely kind. “You are not as unseen as you think, even if you two have pulled this affair quite snugly over Demeter’s eyes. Tell me, brother, if I denied you: What would you do? By the Styx, do be honest about it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “The oath?”

“Humor me, if you would.”

He grimaced, biting back a sharp retort that wouldn’t aid him at this point. “By the Styx…I would take her anyway. I love her. There would be consequences but…” He sighed. “I wouldn’t care. There is no consequence you could serve upon me worse than denying me her presence in my home.”

Zeus smiled, bitterly. “Then there is no point in me denying you, is there?”

“No.” He grinned. “No.” He poured himself a rare second drink, drank it down in victory.

“However, brother, I must warn you: you will _never_ get Demeter to agree to this. And if you take the daughter, you will lose the mother’s support forever, brother. That one is sharp.”

“I was never her favorite brother to begin with,” he spit out. Demeter and him had never been enemies but had always been opposites; two very different powers of the earth laying buried between them. “But I’m aware this will hurt her, thank you. Its…unfortunate.”

“Then you will have to work out a way to appease her for your wife’s sake. I’ll stall for you, but I’m not bearing the brunt of her wrath when she learns the truth of it all. Bad enough I have Hera growling at my back every hour. I don’t need it to turn into a chorus.”

 _That would be entirely your own fault_ , he thought, but bit his tongue. At any rate, Zeus’ paranoia that their sisters would work together against him was ridiculous.  Zeus himself had sunk their relationship the moment he’d sired a child on Hera one night and impregnated Demeter the next. Neither of his sisters had quite forgiven the other for the betrayal before Hades left for his subterranean home, and he doubted either ever would.

“I will do what is necessary,” he said, changing the topic.

“Good.” He tapped his fingers on the desk as he finished off the last of his wine. “A good vintage, by the way.”

“Only the best for my brother,” Hades said.

‘Your father-in-law, you mean.” Zeus held out a hand and he shook it. “I accept, old man. You have my blessing. Take her into your home after the party and we’ll discuss price via Hermes later. I planned to ask a high price of that one, but…” He snorted. “You have the means.”

“Excellent.” He rose; they were done here, and suddenly, Hades had so very much to do.

“May I offer one final word of advice, from father to son?” Zeus said, opening the door and escorting Hades out of it. He rolled his eyes — given their ages, this roleplay was a bit ridiculous — but nodded.

“I suppose.”

“With Demeter, it may be easier to seek her forgiveness than earn her approval.” His eyes suggested that he did not think Hades could earn either; there was something akin to pity there, deep down underneath it all. Still, no matter; he’d do his best to appease her but he’d let Demeter rot if he had to. Zeus clapped Hades on the shoulder, and then he turned away, disappearing down a bright and well-lit hall. There were no goodbyes, and Hades found he had little need of them.

Well. He took a deep breath and grinned, well aware he must look a mad idiot. He’d _wo_ n. He won, he won! Persephone would be his wife. And soon.

He closed his eyes and opened his senses; he would tell her, of course, and as soon as he could, too.

 _Wait for me,_ he thought. _I’m coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Next week's fic will be a bit late, probably Tuesday. Apologies, real life has hammered me hard and I'm struggling to keep up but I hope to make it worth the wait.


	13. Crack in the Wall [60. Throwing Their Arms Around The Other Person, Holding Them Close While They Kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I…” he said, voice unusually high and wavering; unsure, another rarely seen note. “Wanted to make ya happy. Just — wanted to make ya happy.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“You do,” she said, squeezin’ his hand. “You do. Just…” She hesitated, and let the awful sentence hang._
> 
> _“I know,” he said. “Don’t I just know.”_  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M  
> Warnings: Talk about stillbirths/miscarriages, some brief sexual references, depression
> 
> Set precanon by about sixty five years.

“So I take it you like the surprise,” her husband said, his voice a deep and welcoming purr.

She smiled at what had to be a new bar, dressed up in the finest mahogany, best she could, winked with a confidence she didn’t really feel. “Best idea you ever had.”

That wasn’t true of course, but it was the right nice thing to say, and she knew what he’d done had been right nice. Built her up a nice little gift, no doubt took him a lot of his time, and he was always a busy man. For Hades, who was never good at expressing himself in words — it was a sign. She knew it. She clung to it.

“Marryin’ you was the best idea I ever had,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk as his hand pressed down on her belly, thin and lacking as it was. He tugged her a little closer and she got a hint of what he wanted poking square into her thigh. Oh yes, he had missed her alright.

“Flatterer,” she teased, hiding her tell-tale swallow of insecurity by gently reaching back to cup his cheek. Those awful sunglasses pressed against her cheek as he drew his head closer, and it took more than a little willpower to stop from leaning back into him as his lips hit her earlobe, gently nibblin' in all the right ways. Her brand new glass dropped from her hand onto the bar below. It didn’t shatter, but she didn’t pick it up right away. He chuckled, that little rock-solid chuckle that told her that he was raring to go for her, which was a damn miracle after how they’d left things when she went: her eyes full of tears, her belly conspicuously empty.

“Your glasses hurt,” she muttered; he pulled away and she saw them reappear in his hand, then gently clink onto the bar’s surface below. He pressed his face back into her hair and kissed her temple. He needed them to see without squintin’ up here, but wasn’t much to see in the gloomy stock-car, the fabric curtains all drawn like it was a funeral. She hated those curtains.

“Better?” he asked. She didn’t answer. He hummed an ancient melody and held her tight; she felt the entire world swimming before her vision. She couldn’t join in.

She’d lost all sense of any happy melody that last winter, when she had abruptly woken to a horrible chill to her sheets and found them conspicuously stained with horrible, slick blood. It had been the second time in the same year. It took her by surprise, even if at this point, it damn well shouldn’t, but doubt and desolation had nestled so deep in her lungs it was a chore to even breathe. She’d known, then, such rock bottom despair that she had barely gotten out of the bed for the rest of the winter. He, somehow, kept on going, and she loved him for it as much as she hated him for it. Always _so_ practical.

He’d taken care of the sheets. She hadn’t asked how. He’d taken care of her, too. He was good at that. Made sure she ate, even if he had to hold her fork to her mouth; made sure she bathed, even if he had to carry her into that big old tub himself.

He would have made a good daddy, she thought, eyes wet.

She grabbed the glass, kept it upright. Her hand didn’t shake as she dropped a sugar cube in and eyed the whiskey; pre-war vintage, he’d stocked it with the good stuff. Always provided her with the good stuff, her man.

And what had she given him? A part-time wife without even the slightest bit of motherhood in her.

He kissed her ear and she gasped; he took that for encouragement and one of his meaty hands thumbed over her nipple. “No corset?” He whispered, voice deep with desire.

“No.” She swallowed, her voice tight. “No.”

“Good. Saves time.”  His hand went straight into pawing through her dress, her nipple slowly pinched and rolled by a very caring hand. He was tryin’ to be sweet, she knew. He had been affectionate before she left too, desperately wanting to prove his love like that would fix a damn thing.  He’d kissed her several times before she’d gone, didn’t leave her be until she was sitting prim and proper on his new train like it was her own personal steam-iron chariot. “This changes nothing,” he promised, whispering love into her ear. “We’ll try again.” A rare public exhibition of their love on that new platform, but for all the sweet words and kisses, he hadn’t ridden back up-top with her and she’d known in that subtle rejection that he knew damn well who was to blame for their child’s death. She’d cried the whole way back, and harder still when there was an entire bouquet of rose waiting for her up top in Hermes' hands. _Special delivery_ , he’d mouthed, _from the man downstairs_.

It was a sweet gesture, but after a winter breathin’ in nothing but her own cold frost, the rose’s thorns just pricked. At least it made a good cover with Ma, who’d sworn that _that man_ could buy all the roses he wanted to try to earn back Persephone’s favor but it wouldn’t be even a shade of what they'd make upstairs without him. She’d never told Ma about their losses, the pain too shameful; it was easier to let Ma just think Hades was bein’ an ass over something he could control.

That was a lot simpler, to get washed away in Mama's clucking, and sometimes she liked to pretend that what was wrong with them really was all in his control. Truth was, it was her that had something wrong with her, and she didn’t have any control over it at all.

That had been the hundredth attempt, as she liked to think of them. _Attempt_ 100 was easier to parse; clinical. _Flavia_ was what he would have called it, as he’d called number ninety-nine _Arête_ ; he was stubborn enough to think havin' a name made ‘em real children and not just an aborted clump of rejected tissue and blood. Sweet, stupid man. If she’d been mortal, they wouldn’t have to bother with this anymore, her eggs long since gone, but the joys of immortality and the sheer stubborn gall of her husband meant they’d get to try again and again and _again_.

And he was clearly ready to go for child one hundred and one already.

“I’m serious,” he said, quiet. His lips moved south, kissing at her neck. “I missed you, lover.”

“Missed you too.” She swallowed; her voice sounded wet. He put his hand on her shoulder but she refused to turn for a long moment, focused on her drink. Added in the bitters; Abbots, the nice stuff there too, name brand only; of course. Then she splashed in a bit of water because Pa above, didn’t they need the purification of a little water after all these sorrows? She ignored the heavy press of the hand of death sittin’ on her right shoulder and instead stabbed at the drink like muddlin’ drinks was her life’s passion.

“Persephone,” he said, voice full of sticks and stones. “Persephone.”

“What?” She said and heard those same sticks stuck in her own river-weed choked throat.

“Look at me. Please…” There was an edge of something frantic there; she turned and caught further hints of desperation in the tension of his jaw as she turned and stared at his face. He opened his mouth and closed it, gawping like a fish; never was good with words and, despite knowin’ that, she felt frustrated, too, because it was always up to her to find the right words and she wasn’t findin’ any. Neither was he; one attempt, then another, set his great jaw moving, but not a damned bit of sound came out of that granite face.

She nodded, started to turn back to the safety of her drink – but he wouldn’t allow it. He caught her cheek in his hand. He pressed himself close to her right quick, and she didn’t have time to prepare for the kissin' before she was being kissed, kissed deep and strong enough to make roses bloom in the deadest hour of the darkest winter night. His arms wrapped around her like a warm blanket, smotheringly, comfortingly hot; it brought only to mind the thought of his face when he’d woken to her sobbing in their bed nine months ago. The visceral memory flashed through her mind – that stupid big face falling down, his scramble to touch her belly and the trail his hot tears left; _oh, Flavia, you’ve left us_ , said in his most regal voice. She had heard what he had left unsaid: _oh Persephone, you've fucked up again_.

She pushed him away. He stumbled, surprise plainly written on his fair old face, mixed in a cocktail of despair way more potent than anything she could hope to brew with this new bar. She leaned down on the bar, put her head down over the cool ice he’d oh so carefully made just for her and carried all this way just so she could have a damn cold _drink_. “I’m sorry. I’m—"

“It’s alright,” he said; it wasn’t. He put his hands on her shoulders, reassuringly solid. “It’s alright, lover.”

 _Some lover._ She started to cry and turned back to him, buried her head in his big shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and his boulder-strong shoulders gently held her cheek. “I—“

“I know,” he said, pressing a heavy kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t I know.”

He didn’t, she thought, not really. Wasn’t him who lost the babies; wasn’t his part that was getting all fucked up. He might not have gotten many children into her, but a track record of a hundred pregnancies in thousands of years was sure a lot better than zero live births in that time, and he’d been getting better at it, somehow: she’d had two pregnancies this winter, and one every year for the ten years before. Losing Zagreus centuries ago had been bad; losing these new attempts faster and faster was worse. Two a year last year. How many more would they suffer this year? How many more would they suffer in a six-month period in a decade? A century? Would she be going through this whole horrible cycle of birth and death in mere weeks eventually? She’d rather be dead than keep facing this. _Fuck_. Her fickle womb! How could she make every flower grow but the one that counted?

He’d married a right failure of a wife. Outright disappointment of womanhood. He ought to resent her, ought to hate her — and, instead, he just looked at her like a love-struck fool. She loved him. She hated him, too, hated this deep shame and how stupid he was to not realize her womb was just too damn sour or smooth or whatever the fuck it was that kept women like her from birthing children; was nothin’ she could do about it but by Pa’s almighty throne did she _hate_ that he couldn’t see it.

And hated, too, how the words got stuck in her throat, how she couldn’t tell him because he was a _King_ and, well — he needed an heir. She couldn’t provide one.

There were a wide variety of mortal women who illustrated what would happen next.

“Sit down,” he said after a long moment; wasn’t a suggestion. “You’re…tired. I’ll mix your drink.”

She nodded stiffly; she’d barely sat down before the train started moving, and she closed her eyes, not wanting to watch the ground as they moved closer and closer to the cavern where they’d go down under the ground. She heard him fiddling — a heavy splash of the whiskey, that was good, she needed it heavy to face this winter, the oncoming and all-too-soon to depart _attempt one hundred and one_ — and then heard the soft clink of another sugar cube in another glass; he was makin’ himself a cocktail, too.

“Orange or lemon on top, sunshine?” he asked; she paused for a moment, didn’t bother opening her eyes. A totally meaningless choice and yet she felt paralyzed.

“Surprise me,” she murmured.

“Alright,” he said, a long moment later. He hadn’t liked the answer, but he wasn’t gonna fight on it. The train lurched a bit – she heard a splash, and a _hmmph_ noise coming straight from her husband’s throat. Never liked it when things didn’t go to plan, her man; real careful planner, him.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” she said.

“Work on the tracks next summer,” he groused; she caught a second pour as he topped up whatever spilled, them smelled the sweet-bitter scent of citrus in the air as he finished off their cocktails. He brought one over to her. He’d chosen orange. She took it, looked at him with a smile that she hoped said _I love you_ even if she knew it would be kinder to tell him she didn’t; then he could go off, find some nice womb that could incubate his desperately-wanted babies just right.  He wasn’t the easiest man to love but there was nothing wrong with him; another woman, she thought, could make him happier. He deserved to be a daddy. _Needed_ to be one. Lines of succession had to be in place, even if the daddy was immortal.

If anything happened to him…She looked down, throat tight. It would be a right clusterfuck, that was for sure. She wouldn't be able to press a strong claim as Queen, not with her need to be up top six months out of twelve. Pa and uncle Posey would look at it as scraps to be fought over, and they'd be lucky to escape a war if Hades ever _did_ die, or, worse, wind up permanently incapacitated. Immortality, she knew all too well, didn't mean one was spared entirely from the ravages of time and the oppression of death.

She swallowed half the glass in one shot at that thought and he frowned into his glass. Sweet, stupid man. Be a lot easier if he hated her just enough to quietly divorce her; she’d hate it, hate the sight of him with some new wife even more, but it would be better for the realm if he’d do it. She knew he was so practical; It was probably only a matter of time before he realized it for himself. Even if it broke her heart, she could see how he’d do it: _well, lover, I think it’s about time we faced facts about our situation_ , he’d say…and that would be that. She shivered and took another sip, and tried not to cry.

She thought coming down again, seeing him, she’d be okay. He always provided for her, always made her feel safe and sound.

But she was not okay. Not at all.

“Slow down, darlin’.” One hand weighed over her shoulder, heavy as hell itself. “Meant to be savored, you know.”

“Ain’t good at slow,” she mouthed. He smiled at the old words, the sad sort of smile that told her he remembered damn well the first time she said them, and how different the circumstances had been. How ironic, to think he wouldn’t sleep with her _then_ because of the _risk_ of getting her pregnant with his child. He should have.

“You’re plenty good with it when you want to be.” He murmured; his hand gently grazed her knee, a sweet seductiveness to it that would have made her quiver if she’d been in a less-funerary frame of mind. “Been times as I recall you’ve tortured me all night with your slow kisses.”

“Payback,” she spit, taking another long sip. “Plain and simple. For all the times when I was a mere slip of a thing and you were cruel, kissin’ me all over and then leavin’ me all high and dry.” Of course, if he hadn’t, they wouldn’t be married. Simple as that. Only bad business deal he’d ever made: he didn’t inspect the heifer before he bought her, and now he was finding out she wasn’t gonna calf no matter what, but his money had long been spent.

“If you only knew,” he said, voice all dark portents as his hand very slowly moved up her thigh. “What I was thinking.” His hand moved to cover her cunt but didn’t press forward beyond that; she didn’t move her hips and he didn’t either, just lettin’ his hand lay there.

“Well you just had to be a gentleman, didn’t ya?” She put her hand gently over his own but didn’t move either hand away. He chuckled, missing the point. “You were a damned fool back then, tryin’ to take the high road. Look where its brought us.”

He was silent for a very long moment.

“If it’s any consolation…” he squeezed his hand tight over her cunt. “ _You_ were more than worth the wait. Laying you out in that meadow…” His voice was thick with memories; too thick, and she sighed and leaned toward him. He let his words fade away and very gently rubbed his hand over her cunt; even through all the fabric, she bolted up a little straighter and he saw her move. She could tell from those quick snake-eyes that he was carefully evaluating it, if it were a good shift or not.

She wasn’t sure she much enjoyed bein’ studied.

“That was a long time ago. Not such a young girl anymore.” She gently pulled his hand away and he frowned; he didn’t get it. She kissed his old knuckles with her fingers and noted his hands were startin’ to thin a bit, the golden veins just a bit more visible. Gettin’ older, already older than her by a long ways. Hair almost gone white now.  Looked good on him, but it was another reminder that neither of them was gettin’ any younger and that heir was long, long overdue.

“You’ve just gotten even more beautiful since.” He smiled, oblivious, and she hated how her stomach twisted in response, because she wanted to be lovin’ this sweet man and not thinkin’ how stupid it was for him to love her so _fucking_ much. What was wrong with her? He nudged at her neck in a gentle huff, trying to get her attention. “And I’m still obsessed with every part of ya.”

“You shouldn’t be,” she said, swallowing the rest of her drink. “Drink your drink, Hades.”

He frowned into his drink, quiet, and she looked away. Her fault, all her fault. She heard him tilt his drink back, not savoring it at all but swallowing the whole thing in one gulp. He reached out and put the glass onto the floor with a loud smack.

She finished her first drink too, but didn’t bother to put it on the ground, just holdin’ it in her hands. The lights flickered. Wouldn’t be long till they passed over now.

“If you don’t like the bar— “ he said, finally, and she just laughed, and knew it was mean to laugh, and heard him groan even as she did it, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop at all. She opened her eyes and found him leaning forward, head in his hands.

Which was, in the sheet music of Hades, a note stuck in the key of somewhere between _I’m very upset_ and _I’m very sad_. It was not a position she saw him in often.

“The bar’s lovely, really.” She reached out and grabbed his cheek and the look of desperate hope and sadness _hurt._ “Look at you. Makin’ me courtin’ presents even if we been married long as the world has spun. Romantic, my man.”

“I…”  he said, voice unusually high and wavering; unsure, another rarely seen note. “Wanted to make ya happy. Just — wanted to make ya happy.”

“You do,” she said, squeezin’ his hand. “You do. Just…” She hesitated, and let the awful sentence hang.

“I know,” he said. “Don’t I just know.”

The crossed the border like that; hand in hand, her drink in her hand and his teetering on the ground. She wondered how long either of them could bear this. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He cleared his throat and said, very softly, “me too.” Then he stood, surprised her by hastily plucking her drink out of her hands. She looked up, eyebrows raised but he looked away. He grabbed his, too, gently put them on the box with the ice in her bar and stared down at it like it held all the answers but of course there were none at all. Even in the dim light, she saw that much was written on that old face. He was _lost_ and if he was lost, she was lost, and as selfish as it was, she didn’t know what to do without him leading the way.

Her chest sunk to the pit of her feet. She didn't know if it was crueler to try to give him a bit of happiness or not, but she smiled and tried to show him a nice face, faking hope she didn’t really feel; she loved him, he loved her, and maybe six months together could be enough of a balm to heal the cracks in her walls. She wasn’t quite ready for that next baby tonight, but he was makin’ a right effort to show her his love and maybe despite all the reasons she shouldn’t – maybe she could too, and maybe that would be enough. Maybe they could pretend, for a little while, that they didn’t need any heirs. Didn’t need nothin’ but one another.

Maybe.

“We should get some use of that present of yours,” she said, takin’ care to put a bit of the old sultriness back in her voice. He looked up. “Make another round, Hades.”  He always felt better with something to do, and she saw a fraction of the tension leave him as he nodded. She lost herself in the comfort of the noise he was makin’; he was always so precise, his motions full of nothing less but godly grace. Pour, muddle, stir, splash. Weren’t it quite a melody all its own?

He sat down next to her, leaving no space between them. “Your drink,” he offered, somehow finding the strength to quietly smile.

“I love you,” she blurted out, surprising them both. His smile went wide and he put a hand on her shoulder.

“Love you, too, sunshine.” She wasn’t anyone’s sunshine, not in this state, but she still tilted her lips upwards, knowing she shouldn’t, and simultaneously knowing she couldn’t resist him. He picked up on the wordless request, kissing her hard enough she nearly dropped the glass.

He grabbed her free hand with his when they parted; wordlessly, he put it over his own chest, and she could feel the heavy thump of his old, pained heart. She smiled. He did too.

“Only you,” he said quiet as rain on a calm spring night. “Only you.”

 _Ain’t that just the problem_ , she thought. Sweet, stupid man. She swallowed, uncomfortable. She couldn’t take another moment of this awful maudlin sulking between them both, or she’d just drown in it. “Come on,” she said, forcing a laugh and putting her drink down on the table. “Lets do something fun, you old softy.”

“Fun, huh?” His lips reappeared at her mouth as he leaned all the way in. He gave her a slight little laugh, huffy and nervous in the right way.

“That’s right.” She ran a finger over his lips and he shivered and she couldn’t help but kiss him, couldn’t help but thaw even when she knew it would be better to freeze. “That’s _right.”_

He reared back for a moment to put the drink down and, somehow, in the same fraction of a second, start to unbutton his coat. “I – I like fun. You want to…?”

“Slow down,” she huffed; she swung into his lap tentatively, stopping his hands from making speedy progress; the suit was open and his fingers had made it as far as untying his tie. She played with it for a moment before dispensing with it, knowing it would keep his eyes on the tie and not her face. When she pulled it off, his eyes caught hers. She looked away, swung down to pick up his drink and forced it back into his hand. Taking it slow meant they’d ease into it; maybe it would keep some of her darker thoughts at bay. “Meant to be savored.”

“Ain’t so old I need a water break already,” he grumbled.

“I want to play a game,” she whispered. “A drinking game, since you was so kind as to install the bar.” She kissed his cheek and he groaned. “Think we both could use some fun.”

“A-alright. If it makes ya happy.” He ran a hand down her thighs and grinned, bright as a knife, as she shivered in response. “What you got in mind?”

She smirked and bent low, grinding against him; he held her hips tight and grinned up at her; eager, eager. Her stomach just turned, guilt curdling somewhere deep in her belly. She considered carefully what to play; something simple. Something to distract them both.

“Wife,” he whispered, the loving balm of a word a knife straight to her heart. He shut his eyes, clearly enjoying the motion of her hips on top of his own. “ _Wife_.”

“I never,” she whispered in his ear as his hands wound round her back. He stopped.

“What?” His voice was husky; distracted. Still raring to go, to try again. How could he possibly take this heartache that gnawed so deep in her chest like he didn’t feel it all? So practical a man, didn’t he see how his love for her was hurtin' him?

“That’s the game.” She smoothed his hair back. “Ain’t you never played? Used to play with ‘Thena and Heph and co when Ma let me go up on the mountain. It’s a good game when—“ She swallowed, her thoughts not on her own childhood but one that would never be. “When you have a lot of siblings.” Course their version had involved trading questions with stupid dares, not drinks, but she figured the odds of getting Hades to play by that rule set were just about nil.

“Didn’t play that kind of game.” He shrugged, but there was tightness to his shoulders as there was at any mention of his time before her. She put her hands on them automatically, kneading the tension out of his skin, and the old movement made the barest hint of a smile cross her face. So easy to know what he needed. And then promptly faded when she remembered she couldn’t provide the one thing he needed most. “Don’t know the rules.”

“What did you play?” He raised his eyebrows and leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her mouth once, twice in response. “I hope you didn’t play kissing games with my mother.”

He made a soft _ha_. “No.” His mouth wandered a bit more, planting the odd kiss on her chin, her neck. She smiled despite herself and leaned back; he sighed at the break in contact and she shook her head.

“Won’t be able to explain the game if you keep getting distracted.”

“Wouldn’t that be a pity.” He settled back and let his hands just trail to her knees. “Well, tell me the rules.”

“Rules is simple. You start out with makin’ an oath to be truthful, then you go back and forth tradin' statements like _I haven’t done this_ or _I haven’t seen that_. If the other person has, they drink. Then it’s the other person’s turn to make another statement about what they ain’t done, and if the original asker has done it, they drink. And so it goes.”

He frowned. “And you played this with your siblings? Seems like it would be a good way to get real drunk. And some of your daddy’s kids don’t seem the type to…”

She smirked. “When we were real young, we traded dares. By the time Pa let us in the liquor cabinets, well…I was already distracted by a bigger, older man who’d put a kiss on my brow. Compared to him, drinkin’ Ares under the table didn’t hold much interest.”  
  
“Mmm, well…” He glanced away and frowned. “Seems to be not much point in you and me playin’ such a thing. Seems more set for younger lovers. You and me, we…”

She raised an eyebrow. “You tryin’ to tell me somethin’ bout my age?”  
  
“No. But what have we got to ask? What haven’t we done together?” He picked up her hand, kissed it. “Not much I’ve…experienced without you.” She blushed.

“Questions ain’t gotta be bedroom ones. And if you know me that well, it should be an easy game then.” Which was, entirely, the point.

He raised up one finger and she raised her eyebrows. “One modification?”

“Hm?” She smirked and tapped his chin. “Ain’t played and already changin’ the rules?”

“If either wrangles the other down to cleanin’ a mug…Loser does … _somethin’_ for the winner.”

“Something, huh?” She raised an eyebrow; that sort of emphasis generally only meant one thing, and he hadn’t exactly made a damn secret of how eager he was. “What kind of something?”

“Little things.” He ran a hand back up to her belly. “Foreplay, maybe, or just fun. Loser can refuse if she ain’t…comfortable.” There was a tightness to him at the word comfortable; she couldn’t fathom why. She swallowed. She loved him so much, certainly liked the foreplay, and yet of it going farther, the thought of getting pregnant again… The dizzy, nauseous cocktail of hope mixed with the seemingly eternal deep sadness of so much loss stabbed at her and she tried to deflect away from it.

 _“She_ ,” she scoffed, the old banter at least something to cling to. “Bold words from one who ain’t played.”

“Do you agree to the modification?” There was the old man in him, all facts and laws: she saw it in the way he waited, his eyebrow just slightly perched above his brow. Always like this, him; patient and full of rights and wrongs and contracts and provisions.

“Yes.” Harmless enough, she supposed; foreplay wouldn’t get her pregnant.  “Of course.”

He just smiled.

She raised a hand. “Swear to be truthful? You lie, you do a lap in Styx.”

“I swear. And you?”

“I swear. Since it’s your first time, I’ll go first.” His dark eyes glimmered in response and she leaned forward. She wanted to start with an easy one; one that would get him to take a sip, but not poke him in any particular sore points. Which was challenging, because he had a lot of sore points. She smoothed down his white hair and smiled. “I’ve never gone grey yet.”

He chuckled and motioned for his drink; she put it in his fingers and he took a long sip.

“So you haven’t.” He drummed his fingers and stared at her for a long moment; she could see him forming his strategy through those quick, intelligent eyes. “One for you,” he said.

“One for me,” she agreed. She tossed him a smile she hoped was cocky, but felt more nervous than anything else.

“I…” He frowned. “I’ve never grown a philodendron.”

She snorted and took a sip. “That your strategy? You gonna try to pull out different plants you ain’t spawned?”

He looked defensive, pouting in a way that was as annoying as it was adorable. She was sure her children would have that look and the casual thought of that struck like a lance, making her smile falter. Too many gravestones choked with the weeds of their love. “You never said they had to vary widely.”

“So I didn’t, so I didn’t.” She tried to focus on something else, _anything_ else. If he wanted to play the game to get stinking drunk, well, she had plenty of ammunition. “I’ve never taken a whale’s soul.”

He groaned and took a swig. “Only good part of that is Thanatos does the smaller marine life.”

“Never grown a ficus.” She sipped, a small sip, pacing herself. He didn’t say anything; she was unsure if he didn’t notice or if he just didn’t feel like pointing out that she was going slow.

“Never taken a cat’s soul,” she said, and he sipped. He did not take short sips; five more would drain it. She wondered what he wanted to lose or if he was just nervous.

“Never worn silk stockings,” he said, changing things up; she raised an eyebrow and sipped her drink.

“You’d look nice in ‘em,” she offered, to a loud snort.

“They don’t make them in my size.” 

“Never seen you in a feminine form at all actually,” she said, wondering for the first time if he was even capable of it. Some gods could change their physical make-up; Ares had done it a few times, fighting along-side the Amazons. Brother Dio made a pastime of it, Aphrodite was almost a professional at it, and even Eros was always flipping between being a boy, a girl, and sometimes in-between. She wondered what Hades would look like as a woman; Auntie Hes had his nose but — the rest, she took after someone else. Hades did not drink, putting her behind.

“Not my talent,” he said, sounding surprisingly maudlin. Maybe the drink was startin’ to hit him. “Just…am what I am, darlin’. If I could have changed this mug, I would have. Would have saved a lot of trouble.”

“Well, I like the package you come in.” She nudged his cheek with her own and felt his hand gently maneuver her into a kiss; she could taste the whiskey on his lips, honey-sweet gasoline.

“I’ve never seen you in fur,” he offered, a tiny bit of curiosity in his voice; she wrinkled her nose.

“Never had a fur.” She thought about it, realized she hadn’t ever even worn fur, and raised her glass, triumphant.

“Hmm.” He snapped his fingers. “Could change that.”

“Maybe if it gets colder underground.” She shrugged. She didn’t much like fur; it was a natural thing but she hated to think of other things dying just to give her a way to keep warm. Would be one thing if she stuck around up top but for the most part, winter was a season that happened almost entirely to other people, and the Underworld, while cool, generally had a very helpful old god to curl up with if she needed to warm up right fast.

“Shouldn’t; I’ve been experimenting with the fireplace,” he said, pleased as punch. She smiled into his neck. He was always experimenting with something or other while she was gone. That would be a ripe field to mine for potential never-dones.

“Never been electrocuted,” she elected, changing the topic to one of his hobbies. He snorted and took a big sip.

“When was this?” she asked, amused. He’d never mentioned being shocked; never seen a sign of it in him.

“Got shocked a few times, figuring out the train engine. Little ones. Been shocked a couple of times by your dad, too. Bigger ones.”

“Did you deserve it?”

“I didn’t think so.” His cheeks were getting a bit heavier colored; she wondered if she had the same coloring to her cheeks. He rarely drank more than one glass, but his bigger body size generally gave him the advantage in terms of sobriety.

“Never stolen anything from Olympus,” he offered; shit. She took a sip.

“Bad girl.” The way he said it suggested he approved nonetheless.

“It was just a pomegranate. And I was dared to! It wasn’t my idea.”

His eyes glimmered. “So that was you. I had wondered. Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you would be so bold.”  

“Well, I never got zapped by my Pa.”

He looked into the cup and hesitated. “Am I answering based on my father, or yours?”

“Mine.” She smirked, and he sighed, taking a sip. Two more and he’d have his entire cup gone; perhaps five more sips of her cocktail for her.  

“Never liked Olympus very much,” he said.

He had her on that one, and she sipped.

He glanced down into her cup, obviously curious how much she had left. She smirked. Time to go for the kill. “Never dated more than one person.” He hesitated.

“What do we count as dating?” She raised an eyebrow. She knew he’d had more experience than her — but rarely did anyone speak of Hades’ other lovers. It was an odd question. She wondered if he’d been the love’em and leave’em type. It was hard to imagine him with friends, let alone friends with benefits, but…

“Going out. Kissin’. Sex. Things we do.” She leaned over him as he took a small sip, cheeks definitively just a bit more glowing. He was embarressed, and she thought she'd try to tease him; sometimes, he liked that kind of play. 

“Mmm, how many more than one?” She nibbled at his ear and he squirmed underneath her.

“Hes and I talked ‘bout it, but that never —“ he cleared his throat. “Never went anywhere. Was one woman, during the war.” He cupped her hand with her cheek. “Long time ago.  ‘fore you were born. Never happened again after the war.” It might be easier if it did, she thought; let some other woman swell with his child. A bastard could prove right-born if the father was so inclined. Her stomach twisted and she looked away; he grabbed her chin, frowning.

“Never happening again, either. Girl meant nothin’ to me, not compared to you.”

“I know,” she said, swallowing; he’d picked up on her melancholy for all the wrong reasons. “I know. Ain’t jealous.”

He looked unconvinced. She smiled. “Really. Now I’ve never — “  
  
“It’s my turn.” He pulled her as close as he could and her heart sunk because she knew – she _knew_ — then that he was going to go for a big romantic gesture, and she wasn’t in the mood for it. “I’m spoken for; that’s how it is. Never have I ever even had a thought of steppin' out or leavin’ you, that’s the truth of it.”

Her stomach twisted. Sweet, stupid idiot. He’d picked the worst possible romantic gesture and now the swearing they had made to the Styx would doom them both.

She sighed, and the sweet smile on his face faded.

She sipped.

He jerked back, instantaneously shocked. “Oh.” He said, dumbly. “ _Oh_. When was this?”

“Never mind, Hades. It doesn’t matter.”

“It damn well matters.” He growled. “When?” He looked at her face, and she was sure from the heat in her cheeks she must look guilty as sin.

“Now, then,” he said. “ _Well_.”

“Hades,” He gently pulled her off his lap; her drink spilled on him. He didn't seem to notice. “Hades, it ain’t like that.”

He had gone back to holding his head in his hands, those big meaty fingers gently thrumming through his hair. His breathing had gone uneven; she ran a hand down his shoulder and he twitched, throwing it off.

“Ain’t like what? Ain’t like you were thinkin’ of throwing me aside?”  His voice sounded bloody and dark and she bit her lip, knowing how horrible it sounded and hoping against hope he’d let her explain.

“It’s not because I don’t — “She creased her lips, swallowed, the air suddenly thin. The train shuddered around a tight corner; near to home. “It’s not because I don’t love you, Hades.”

“You love me but you want to leave me.” He stared at her, eyes dark and flinty. “You want to _leave_.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t — “She reached out and held his hand. He did not pull away for a long moment. “Please, I just—“

“I don’t know if I can hear this right now.” He stood, walked over to the wall of the car, staring at the window at their kingdom — his kingdom, really. She was just his part-time partner, after all. “Is there…someone else?”

“No, Hades, ain’t nobody else for me. Never was.” She ran her hand over her belly, empty and cold.

“I — “He groaned, some loud tension in him breaking, breaking. “I — Ain’t we had good times? What did I do?”

“Hades.” She took a step toward him, gently touched his shoulder. “I – I don’t want…You didn’t do _nothin'_ wrong.”

“You’re….” He puffed out a heavy breath and looked at her. She stared back, miserable. “I don’t understand you, darlin’. Beginnin’ to wonder if I ever did.”

“Let me expl—”

“No. Don’t.” The train skidded to a stop, and Hades broke for the door, moving fast. “I – I need to go.”

“Hades. Stop,” she said holding out a hand. “Please. Let me exp—" He didn’t.

He was gone, slippin’ through the door past the engine room with the most haunted expression she’d ever seen. It closed with a soft click that might as well have shaken like thunder.

 _Fuck_. She’d hurt him, that was obvious. She stood, willed herself not to cry. It was coming down the line; might be better to have it out sooner, even if it hurt them both now. He could find someone else to give him a baby, and she could – could …what? Go back to mama? Fade away? Close her eyes and wait for time to pass her by?

She stepped off the train in a haze, not bothering to even say hello to any of their subordinates. She focused her entire being on moving, one foot forward, then another. Just keep moving. She tried to look for him, but he’d left her high and dry.

Well, least that wasn’t entirely unfamiliar.

She stormed home, knowing Hades would throw himself into work until he calmed down. She walked into the old castle all her lonesome – it was well lit, so he’d gotten here ahead. It was unnervingly quiet, as it always was ‘til she got used to the stillness, which had a melody of its own.

She walked slowly up to the door of his office – already closed – and held out a hand to it.

And stopped.

The damage had been done, hadn’t it? And wasn’t this just the natural consequence of being barren? She swallowed. If she wanted him to be happy…wasn’t it better to let him go, even if it killed her? He’d be happy once he was able to forget her. She closed her eyes at the thought and tore away, running at such a heavy stomp he was sure to know just where she was. Which she supposed was fine because once he’d nursed his heart, he wouldn’t give a single, solitary fuck about her.

She ran into their bedroom and tossed herself into their bed; he’d put down new sheets, pretty ones; white with a winding pattern of pink and red carnations in a field of red and white poppies. She cried harder, the pattern blurring as the tears fell.

She wondered if he’d picked them out just for her or if he’d had help; flower messages were more her specialty than his and she damn well knew what these were meant to say. Carnations; eternal passion and mother's love; poppies, remembrance of the dead and hopeful dreams. Fucking hell. Sweet, stupid idiot. _Her_ sweet, stupid _idiot_. She wanted to scream. This wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair at all.

She tried to stop cryin’, tried to think like he would, focus on just movin’ forward; maybe she should write Mama, ask if she’d be alright comin' right back to the station. Couldn’t imagine he’d want her stickin' around down here. Didn’t need her to run his show after all. Already did six months all his lonesome, what was six more?

But she didn’t want to go. She was selfish and knew she was bein’ so; she traced a carnation and the tears welled up again, the swell of them so strong her face was numb. She tried to dry them with a handkerchief from the side table – that was still the same deep ebony wood it had been the first time he’d thrown her down on top of the bed.

 _This room always looked too empty for just me_ , he’d murmured then, the memory a dagger stuck in her breast. _Must have been waitin' for you to come share it with me._

She’d giggled then, young enough to mistake his pensiveness for a seduction gimmick. _Good, you left room for me. And just enough room for a cradle in the corner, too! Perfect. Just perfect._

She glanced toward where the cradle had been, once; when they’d _finally_ gotten that first swell, little Zagreus, he’d made it for her. Made it all by himself after gettin' the news that summer, and how pleased she’d been by it in the fall, both by his fawning attention and his handiwork. Was so relieved, then, that he’d cared so much; polar opposite of her daddy and his, too. He’d barely kept his hands off her belly and his big grin off his face. _Hubris, hubris, hubris._

The fates heard. The Fates acted. And Zagreus had been born without one single spark of life in his veins, and the crib had gotten pushed into a nursery room that by unspoken agreement, neither of them ever entered.

The others had their own nurseries, all equally abandoned – but the cribs had remained in their own rooms, in a sealed hallway no one else could access, silently agreed to only be moved back to their room when there was a reason to bring them out. Until now, that hall was little more than a monument to their failed attempts. Each room too painful to use for a new try; each room too painful to entirely disassemble. 

Fuck, she wanted another drink. She debated running down to the kitchen, but doing so meant she’d more likely run into _him_. She wished she’d remembered to grab a bottle or two from Mama; Mama’s wine, with the taste of sunshine in each sip, would feel mighty lovely right now. Next year, she thought, then winced, curling into a ball. Weren’t likely to be a next year.

She cried again for a long time then, and she wasn’t sure how long she did, beyond that it had been long enough her chest hurt and her eyes felt raw. Time passed immaterially; she cried, and time passed, and that was all she could handle.

The door swung open; she looked up, startled. He was there.

He said nothing, just quietly closing it. She stared up at him, and he looked down at her. They both looked miserable; his hair was a mess, his eyes red. Still beautiful, as he always was in his own divine way, but a right wreck.

“Come here,” she said. It wasn’t a suggestion, and to her relief he slipped into bed, his hands tugging 'round her empty belly as he settled himself behind her. He didn’t say anything, and she wished he were a bit better at that, because she couldn’t start every damn conversation.

But he was quiet.

She heard the quiet shuffle of his breath, the nervous clatter of his watch as his hand beat time against her belly. She swallowed, tried to reach out and put her hands over his own.

“Is it too late?” he finally asked, no joy in his voice at all. “If there’s anything I can do to convince ya ta stay…” His hand tightened.

“Hades…”

“Is it the Underworld itself?” His voice was strained with so many weeds it all but broke her. “I—I’ll burn this whole thing down and start again. You won’t even recognize it next year.”

“Ain’t the realm, Hades.” She swallowed a deep breath for bravery, but didn’t miss his painful exhale.

“It’s  me, then, isn’t it?” He made an odd noise, something caught between a deeply caustic chuckle and a rasping cough. “Harder to change but I'll give it my all. Tell me what to do, what needs to go.”

“Nothing you can change, baby. It’s—”

“Is it…?” He made a panting noise of needy frustration. “Is it that I'm too old? Tired of havin' an old man on your arm?”

“No!” She sighed. “It’s —“

“That I’m too — “

“Hades, _listen.”_ She wormed over to face him, put both her hands on his old face. “You need a _son_.”

“…What?” He looked — odd. “Are you…?” His eyes flickered down, then back to her face, obviously performing mental math trying to decide if she was just _really_ showin’ tiny this time. She caught the all too quick flash of hope on his face and she _hated_ it, hated it.

“ _No_. _That’s_ the problem. Thats why I —” She smiled, unsteady, and tried to speak logic to him. Hades was always the brutally logical type. “You need a son and I can’t give you that.”

“Doesn’t need to be a son,” he said; he placed a hand on her chin. She saw the challenge in his eyes already; defiant. He gave her a wobbly smile. “Little girl’s fine, too."

It was the wrong thing to say.

“I’m not giving you _any_ heirs,” she insisted. “I – I don’t think I can.”

“You will.” He wrapped his arms around her and sighed. “I know it’s…hard.”

“Mm.” She nestled into his shoulder. “Hades, one hundred  _times_ and we ain’t had nothing live long enough.”

She felt him bristle under her, that heavy jaw working overtime. “We will _.”_

 _“_ I can’t keep doing this.” Her eyes narrowed. “I can’t keep — last winter was — it was more than hard. It was _hell_. I don’t think you understand how much it — ”

“You think it doesn’t hurt me?” His voice was caught somewhere between anger and sadness, but when she looked up, it was only shame in those dark eyes. “Think I don’t know that pain? I know. Believe me, I know. _I know_ , sweetheart.”

“You don’t. Ain’t your body that’s doin’ this.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, stubborn. She looked at him with baleful eyes. “It ain’t. We’ll get it right.”

“What makes you so sure?” Was this just his sheer old stubborn self? He closed his eyes and sighed as if his response had to be pulled from somewhere deep inside.

“I saw it once,” he murmured. “Future-flash. A little girl, who — she was ours. I _know_ it.” She winced; she’d heard the story before, and thought it as likely to be a daydream as he thought it to be real.  It was ironic; he’d gone from believing they made their own fates to desperately chasing the mere wisp of something fated because — because he wanted this, and he wanted it so badly he was willing to change his entire belief system in hope of gaining it. Scary thing, that.

But she looked at his eyes, all bright and burning with a pleading love and she knew she would fold. Loved him too damn much to tell him to give it up, and she'd suffer for it and he would, too.

"Please, I — " He swallowed. "Please. Know its hard but can't we just keep— " 

He was almost begging. She didn't want to see that, wasn't strong enough to see that great king beg just now. 

“Okay,” she said, surrendering. “Okay.” She’d try, again, for him — and maybe when they lost this attempt (and she did not dare to hope for more than that, not anymore), she would bring it up again. “We’ll try to meet her again.”

“You’re not leavin’ then?”  He squeezed her hands tighter, and she just shook her head in a sad smile, knowing he was makin’ the wrong choice and too in love with him to break his heart entirely. Rotten wife in all kinds of ways, it seemed. 

“No. I ain’t.” He pulled her close, then, close as he could, like they could become one, just layin’ on that big bed together.

And for the first time, she thought, it felt a little bit too empty, that big old bed, and she felt tears came again; the salt stung her eyes, but his fingertips gently flicked them away. He didn’t ask what they were for, and she didn’t tell him.

“I was thinking _Pietra_ , perhaps,” he said after a while, sounding a thousand miles away. He stroked through her hair, and she nodded even as her stomach twisted; her sweet, stupid man, he didn’t get it. Wasn’t gonna be a _Pietra_ , or a _Flavia_ , or an _Arête_. All there was and all there ever was gonna be was them two, caught in this cycle, forever and ever it seemed.

But despite knowin’ that, she smiled, and said, “Pietra sounds pretty,” and let him believe in the delusion a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, I know I am still behind on reviews and keeping up with people and I am so sorry I have been; I really do appreciate all the responses and I WILL get back to you ASAP. There won't be a new chapter next week as this weekend is my father's birthday and I'll be out of town for the weekend! I am hoping if I get time to write before then, I'll be able to have something I can store for the next time that I'm heading out. 
> 
> However, in two weeks, I will return, with the Seph finding something Hades has hidden away story, and we'll continue on the normal schedule. :) 
> 
> thanks to FT&SD for helping me go over this and picking up a bunch of errors. 
> 
> Notes:
> 
> \- The drinks that Hades and Seph are drinking on the train are Old Fashioneds, as we know them, but in the 1870s when this is set, they would have just been called "cocktails."
> 
> \- Arête is an ancient Greek name meaning excellence/best/virtue; Flavia is an ancient roman name meaning golden; Pietra is an Italian name meaning stone. 
> 
> \- Zagreus is one of Persephone's children in Greek myth, usually after being rapedby /having sex with Zeus; this steals from Statius, who points out Hades as Zagreus father. Generally Zagreus is a proto-Dionysus but in this fic universe they're different characters.
> 
> \- Thanatos is the ancient greek grim reaper, basically. Hades is the god of the dead, Thanatos is the God of death itself. But death, being a big job, and Hades, being his boss, still winds up having to do some of the collecting himself (which will never wind up giving him bad ideas about collecting humans to work downstairs nope).


	14. Unmoored [46. Long Kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He wished there were answers. That was the problem with being alone; too many thoughts, all of them screaming to be addressed at once, and none of them kind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-Hadestsown, a few hours after [10\. Calm before the Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/46193947) and [2\. Bramble, Root, and Thorn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44107945). 
> 
> Rating: T  
> Warning: A fair amount of miscarriage/stillbirth discussion, panic attacks, a few non-explicit sexual references; next weeks will be happier, I assure you, and apologies for hitting a lot of sad stuff

Hades slowly stared at the ceiling, watching the world above spin, then back at his wife, snoring lightly as she slowly moved closer to him, declaring her usual nighttime war as she mercilessly stole his pillow in her sleep. A bit of drool was coming out of her mouth as she slept, her mouth making cute little huffy noises. He didn’t sleep as much as she did – an advantage of being born of an earlier generation, he supposed, he rarely needed more than a couple of hours every few weeks – but it was…pleasant, to watch her dream. A novelty, even, in these early weeks, when he was still adjusting back to her in his bed.

_Their bed._

She snorted in her sleep as if she was amused by his thoughts, and mercilessly flopped her leg over his ankles, trapping him at her side for a moment. That was nothing unusual in the wintertime, and he did not mind it; in the bad years, it was the closest he came to touching her. The world above was as quiet as it got—the usual human shenanigans, of course, but nobody upstairs was rolling any dice on the human world below.

Which was…good, he supposed, if giving him no escape from the thoughts slowly dripping through his mind. She maneuvered an arm over him with a less-than-delicate smack, making a loud noise as her hand thumped over his shoulder. “Comfortable?” he asked; she gave no reply. Good. Her latest attack had left his hand trapped underneath her – if he just moved it a bit, she’d not likely wake up as he reclaimed it. He looked down as his hand brushed against her belly.

He sucked in a hot breath and held it there, afraid to so much as move.  For a few minutes, he didn’t dare to breathe, then he forced himself to relax. He wanted to caress her belly; it spanned wider than his hand, but he didn’t dare touch it, too nervous as the thought about what doing so meant. He couldn’t get used to it, knew he wouldn’t for a damn long time. She was  _pregnant_. Persephone was pregnant with his _children_. _Children_ , _multiple_ children – and further along than they’d ever been. Six months along now; he knew the math as well as she did. Every day from this point on was viable, every day improving the odds his children would survive long enough to take their first breaths.

If they could avoid their brother’s fate — they would survive. _Survive._ The word may as well be fruit hanging above his head, and he himself was no better off than Tantalus for how damned he felt in his pursuit of this. He had never wanted anything more than _this_ in his very, very long life. The old hunger he’d long thought he’d made peace with never sating now dripped down his throat, leaving him with a poisonous thirst. He could only dare to hope this wouldn’t be yet another doomed effort. He’d seen their _countless_ attempts to conceive go south often enough to know nothing, _nothing_ came from wishing on stars for what one wanted. They’d gotten close to this point before, and it had come to nothing but heartache.

And yet here he was. His hand lightly touched her belly, warm under his fingers, and this time, he let it hang there. He tried and failed to ignore all the ghosts that fluttered in his thoughts.

He closed his eyes, tried to relax, but the only thing he saw with his eyes closed was Zagreus’ own little face. The ghost of that particular child weighed heavier on his shoulders. The others had left them early enough to have never seen their faces, but he’d held his little first-born son; even born early, born dead, he’d needed to hold his son in his arms. He’d traced ever feature of that still little face, willed the child to take a breath he never would. He’d memorized his son’s face in those precious few minutes, too; beautiful boy, somehow, despite having so many of his father’s features, including that big nose he’d never quite have the opportunity to grow into. He had been a tiny thing, barely bigger than his father’s palm when he’d…passed. Hades had held him with infinite care before handing the boy to his mother, who hadn’t relinquished him until long after he’d gone cold. He wasn’t entirely sure he would be strong enough to do that again, if – if the worst came to pass.

The children they’d managed to conceive after Zagreus – they’d lost them, but somehow, it felt more fortunate to have lost them early, when they were only the barest slope to her belly; little more than blood and clumps of cells. They’d barely had time to know them, but he remembered them all. They’d named them; he’d insisted on it, even when she was sobbing, beating her bloody fists on his chest and demanding _what was the use._ He wouldn’t back down on it then; they had deserved names.

Names gave their children a presence nature had denied them; names gave them the only acknowledgment of their existence they would ever have. Was it crueler to know them by names and not only as unfortunate circumstances? Perhaps. But what choice did he have? He _loved_ them, even sight unseen.

 _Everything you will ever hold dear will slip away from you…_ a long-ignored, portentous voice echoed in his ear. He closed his free hand into a fist, shaking his head. _No_. He wouldn’t listen, no matter how true his father’s proclamations had proved to be in the past. He would cling to his chosen family best as he could, keep his hands closed tight even as uncaring fate robbed them blind. The only embrace he’d ever be able to offer his past children, but was that not a father’s job? Loyalty and love beyond all else, no matter what the cost?  His own father had not provided a suitable role model for such, but Hades could only try to provide what he had never had for them.

Would he add these three to the list? The thought hurt. He tried to move past his worries, running through their past-chosen names in his head, a long and silent prayer whispered quietly, so as not to wake her. He said it often enough, stubborn pride making sure someone remembered, even for those children who never lived long enough to draw breath, never lived long enough to build a shade for him to hold. He wondered if she did, too, despite all her shrieking. It was not something they had ever quite discussed. He suspected not; Persephone lived more in the moment than he did.

He…well, he had nothing but time to examine the past and all the ways in which it had gone wrong, wrong, wrong.

She whimpered in her sleep and his eyes darted over to her, anxious; she muttered a half-whispered _ha_ under her breath that might have been his name and snuggled up tighter against him, half on top of him now. That was unusual; she didn’t usually cling so close. He enjoyed it and slowly ran his nose over the tip of her head, lightly kissing her forehead so he wouldn’t wake her. He wanted her to get her rest; she needed it, by all accounts. It was hard, he imagined, to grow three gods inside of you.

 _Three gods or goddesses. Insider her._ His thoughts moved back to the track he had been trying so hard to jump; he focused in on it despite not wanting to. They needed names. Needed to be remembered if the worst…happened.  His hand on her belly tightened and she frowned in her sleep, making a little peep that might have been a reaction to his anxieties and may have been just been a simple dream. He withdrew his hand as gently he could, content to just look at her instead.

She was beautiful. She was always so, of course; she was a goddess, _his_ goddess, the only woman who he had ever quite loved, but this was…this was something more. When they’d been courting young — well, younger — he’d been constantly hit by the desire to nest with her. Those instincts had dulled after they’d given up their hope for any children, but they had come back full force now.

Unable to resist, he slowly wound his fingers around a lock of her curly ringlets, knowing the move wouldn’t be enough to wake his wife from centuries of experience. He _loved_ her hair; had always wanted the children to inherit it instead of his duller locks. He wondered if they’d come out like that, three little ones with her brilliant auburn-brown hair. Wouldn’t be so bad if they’d had his looks either; he wasn’t picky about any attributes they might inherit, not anymore. They could all look like their grandfather as much as he did and he’d care not a whit. All he wanted was for them to come out _alive_. Even if only for a few moments, a few breaths—long enough to have a shade. _Please_. His lips twitched, ill at ease, as he tried to think of some way to alleviate the fears and doubts running through his mind.

There was one thing that he thought of, one thing could do, if one thing he did not _want_ to do because it was something more distasteful than anything else to him: a reliance on others. It hadn’t made a whit of difference in all the other times he’d tried but….He nodded against his pillow, mouth grimly set. So be it. He’d put aside his pride and call upon her.

He’d liked to think he had made his own fate, had relied on no other, and certainly not his _mitéra._ But there was no one else with a skill set that might – _might!_ – intercede on his behalf; Artemis could hold no claim until the children were coming and Eileithyia, too, could not intercede in their growth, that power as ancient and flighty as only his _mitéra_ Rhea could be.

Though he felt all too foolish, he closed his eyes and prayed. _Mother_ , he mouthed, the word tasting strange. _Goddess of growth, goddess of fecundity_ ; he’d never gotten along with her but he’d pray for her mercy, again; offer her tribute, again.   _Please. Help them grow. Keep them safe._ He felt no acknowledgment from her. He supposed that was normal. He never had felt any acknowledgment in any of his few, desperate prayers in the past, either. And he couldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t listening. Couldn’t be surprised if she didn’t want to hear him at all. Wasn’t like they were close; wasn’t like he was the son she had ever wanted. He doubted she’d even feel this prayer but, well, it couldn’t hurt. If intentions mattered…he had every intention of seeing this through.  

Seeing _them_ through. He frowned. There was still _that talk_ , as well, that she wanted to have. That he wanted, desperately, to be over already. Whatever her wishes, he would conform to them. He couldn’t risk losing her, had come far too close to it — and now, well — he needed her all the more, and he wouldn’t risk any stress to her, not in _this_ condition. Whatever she needed, he would provide it. No matter what, no matter how much he detested whatever her desire was; he’d give it to her, and he’d smile when he did. He’d roll on his belly and let her do what she would to him.

Something — no, _someone_ — inside of her shifted, brushing up against his hand. “Restless too, hm?” He followed the little movement, slowly stroking in the same area in hopes of catching the movement again; movement was good, a movement meant life. “Get that from your father, you know.” He smiled. Hard to believe in just a couple months, he’d have the little one here if — if things went well. He swallowed. He wouldn’t dare to shout about it, but it was worse, to know now; he’d have so few months to prepare for their birth, and yet so much time that still loomed full of danger. And that she’d given him not a single word on this, the most momentous occasion of their lives for so many years… _hurt_. She’d always let him know the very second she’d even _suspected_ , even if her methods of telling him had been, at times, arcane. They had _always_ gone through this together. He’d been more involved in their children’s lives than her father had _ever_ been in her life until…until the very end.

And then she had, arbitrarily, cut him out, after he had promised to do better at letting her in. No letters, no baby’s breath bouquet held in Hermes' outstretched hand, no notice sent to him in any way, shape, or form, of the largest change in their lives in _centuries_.  After years of going through every agonizing moment of this journey together, she had simply decided not to tell him until she absolutely had to. Worse, she’d gotten further along with no aid but her mama and some human midwife than they had ever gotten together, and he hated that, too. It was one thing to know that they’d lost so many of their children. It was another to realize that the problem was, as he’d so often feared, himself. Not just that he struggled to _get_ her pregnant — he’d been living with that shame for centuries, was used to it at this point, a _dull_ hurt and nothing more — but now, to know that she’d gotten further _alone_ than with him at her hand and her side — It was unfortunate.

A thought occurred, a terrible thought, and his blood froze. Was there a reason she had turned away from him beyond her belief they'd simply disappear?  Was it the underworld itself that she did not want them exposed to? Or did she think it was his touch that had killed their children?  The last thought was _unbearable_ , but Hades, so logical, could find no evidence against either theory. Even Zagreus, their little son and before this point the farthest-reaching attempt, had been a summer child, conceived when he’d paid her a visit upstairs. The boy had been barely anything when she’d arrived that fall, breathless and giddy; his only clue as to her pregnancy was that she hadn’t had her menses, and then the sickness in her; he’d held her hair back every morning when the sickness took her, nursed her as best he could so she could nurse their children. His little boy had survived in her womb maybe three months in the Underworld, blossoming slowly, and then he had been…gone. The ones who had left him after had been carried here until their inevitable end. Was she at more risk down below? Had he made a deep mistake in agreeing to her request to be brought down?

He wished there were answers. That was the problem with being alone; too many thoughts, all of them screaming to be addressed at once, and none of them kind.

His mouth tasted like bile, his heart hammering. Panic, he knew it by the taste. He didn’t like it.

He had to – he couldn’t stay here. Slowly, he pushed himself out of his ancient bed. He slid out of the covers and stared down at his lovely wife, worry on his brow. He would put the infernal nerves jangling through him to some purpose; there had to be things that could be done _somewhere_ in the house. He tried to think of some task to throw himself into, but the panicked questions swarmed through his mind instead, all focused on his wife and this…situation. Should he ask Eileithyia if it would be less risky if he…if he sent her up with her mama? Demeter wouldn’t complain, he knew that much. It would kill him to miss so much of the pregnancy, though; then, the thought occurred that if something did go wrong up there, it would be hours before he knew. And hours more before he could be by her side.

No; that could be only a last resort. Only if the goddess of childbirth thought it best. Persephone had wanted to give birth below; he would honor that if possible. He’d offended her enough and what was between them was too delicate to risk any more than he already had.

He stared at her for a long moment before turning, pacing back and forth on a light tread so he wouldn’t wake her. He had to turn away because if he stared at her any longer, he’d go mad drinking down the strange concoction of giddy hunger, age-old guilt, bitter wariness, and the thinnest dregs of hope that bubbled through him whenever he so much as he looked at her.

He loved her dearly. He had never felt as hopeful, or fearful, as he did right now, and the mixture was potent and made his fangs slick with poisonous _want_. He sought some familiar distraction, something he could work upon beyond his own anxieties.

Things to do, _things to do_. He ran a hand through his hair; he’d been keeping himself so damn busy waiting that he’d completed every project he’d thought of, and anything related to their children, he was wary about doing without her. He could swallow his pride, talk to Iapetus — Iapetus who had sired _four_ children in this role, so long ago; if Iapetus did not wish to talk to him, he could go after his wife, Clymene. He had ways of making either of them loosen their tongues. He made a motion for his old helmet to come to him before abandoning that plan, too, with a frown; Hermes would probably be within a few hours, sure, and if he hurried he could possibly make it to Tartarus and back before Persephone woke up, but… He paused, staring down at her. Going to Tartarus was to leave her here, alone. He frowned. No, he wouldn’t go.

She was _delicate_ , in this condition. No doubt she would disagree with him here, but he’d worked with Demeter and Hera often enough in the late stages of the war to know that pregnancy could change a goddesses' powers, could make them more fickle, more _unreliable._ The revolt in Hadestown had been dealt with, but that didn’t mean another revolt among the remaining workforce wouldn’t begin. There were less of them now that he’d thinned the ranks and send many packing to the world beyond, but some of those who had thrown their hats down had remained. If they knew he was gone and attempted to seize power, and came upon her…well. He knew they’d go for her throat next, no matter how much they claimed to like his wife. She’d showed them mostly kindness, it was true, but she was as much a threat as him and who knew better than he did what was done by the desperate to those in power? They’d try. They might not succeed, but any stress was – no. Not possible.

He brushed a hand over his face; no, he would not go down to Tartarus. Not yet. He’d wait for Hermes to return, ask Eileithyia his questions for her first and make sure Hermes stuck by his sister’s side in his absence.  Hermes was a loyal friend of his wife’s, and more than capable of handling himself in a fight with any mortal. Hermes would do what he asked; he knew that much. And Hermes was the only person fast enough to reach him if the threat was godly in origin.

Until then, he would simply have to wait, and try not to drive himself mad. She would likely wake up before Hermes returned with the goddess of childbirth, and he’d feel better in the light of her smile. He always felt better when she was by his side.

Persephone snuggled tighter into his side of the bed, fully taking over his pillow with a soft and, perhaps, a bit triumphant, huff of her breath. He smiled; ironic.  He’d waited six months to have her in this bed, six months so _patiently_ waiting, not even daring to look at her out of fear that she’d know, and resent it, and refuse to return to him, and — and now she was here, and now she was in his bed, and now she was pregnant, even, something they’d both written off as impossible.

And now he was fleeing from her.

He moved into a chair at the edge of the room; opened one of the record books he’d been fiddling through before seeing her _like that_ had wiped all thoughts of factories and figures out of his head. He tried to read through the west factory’s latest production records; it had taken a dip after Orpheus had damn near overthrown his entire kingdom, but he supposed that if this was the worse of what had happened, it was fortunate. Most of the work staff had ...retired, but what was left was struggling to maintain the old production lines most basic output, even adjusted for the lack of staffing. He’d have to come up with some method to make them believe in the value of what was left of the town again; he’d talk to Persephone about it. She was always good at coming up with conjuring get-togethers that made the workers feel like their own little family.

He paused. Their own family. Their _family_. _My children, my children,_ memory echoed in his ear; he winced and shut the book. He had only one thing on his mind. For the first time in…so long, he didn’t even want to think of how long it had been, he was _daring_ to hope and, left alone in his thoughts, he knew how bad a bet he was making. Was it insane to hope again, after so many disappointments? To ignore all the signs that this wouldn’t work, to know history wasn’t on their side and yet to do this again anyway? He ran a hand through old, silver hair. So old. He huffed. Looked more like a grandfather than a father-to-be. Would they resent that? Their ancient father, so _damn_ old and still so much a fool, wanting nothing more than to be puttering along with three little babes. What right did he have to teach them to play sticks and hoops? How could they look at him as anything but a dour old man?

 Of course, that was getting ahead of himself; poison trickled into his ear as realism thundered through his practical, old heart. Better than average odds that he could lose them. All too easy to imagine that he’d wind up handing her three little corpses. Could she stand to hold three of them, cold and dead as the first had been? Zagreus had given her a good taste for the booze and each one after had given her a deeper and more insatiable thirst for oblivion. He imagined if she had these three go to the great beyond, she’d test the limits of just how much a goddess could imbibe and just how immortal she truly was. Wasn’t right, all that pain she had to bear and it was all his fault. All his fault.

He thought of her on the train, hell-cat loud as she insisted they have these children — she’d gotten attached already, despite all the reasons not to. He wouldn’t voice it again but he — his chest went tight at the thought of them being born as dead as their brother had been. He couldn’t lose her again; his heart was pounding in his chest and his stomach threatened to heave what little he had eaten in the last few days.

Fussily, he rebuttoned his shirt, suddenly cold. He hated this old room, an early part of his designs down here, back before he’d realized none of his relatives could bear the sight of the world below. The only guest room that had ever been used was Demeter's, and the only occupant there had been Persephone. Anyone else who came through, came through on business. Only she’d ever asked to come down, and only she’d ever _stayed_.

He’d always thought that would have been the biggest problem in his prospective marriage; proof, he supposed, that the fates had a sense of humor. Got the girl, lost the babes.  Damn near lost the girl, after, first from grief and then from anger, and then from stupid _fucking_ pride.

The thought came, unbidden, that there were worse ways of losing her; the venom coursed through his brain, tearing a numbing path straight into his chest. _No. W_ hat if something went wrong with _her_ and he lost – lost, _no_ , no, _gods above and below him, no._ It was a new thought, and a hated thought, and his brain immediately looked for all the ways it could be proven false. That wouldn’t happen, _couldn’t_ happen. His hand tightened on the book. Not that. Gods didn’t die. His own father had well proved his immortality despite all of Hades’ attempts to the contrary. Gods could _not_ die.  

But then again, gods _had_ died on their watch. All his little children – dead before they were even born and every bit as god-blooded as their parents had been. And every generation had been a bit different, more human-like than that which had come before; perhaps he could not die, but she, a generation younger…Terror hammered at his heart. _No_.

He knew damn well his anxieties were running away from him, but every attempt to catch them failed, and the poison flowed through him, deadly as nightshade.

He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath, and another, hoping to find strength, but no matter how loudly he breathed, he felt like he was getting no air at all. He felt like he was choking but knew he could not be; his vision swam and he gripped at the figures book like it was some type of holy writ. “Gods above,” he said, and did not recognize his own voice. His breathing sounded more like sobbing than anything else, even to his ear. To lose her would be to forfeit his own life; he’d die without her, he knew that much. Even if he had to find a way to do it, he would; he would go to that final divide with her and damn anyone who tried to declare such selfish; his brothers could always find a replacement for him. He wouldn’t care, anymore, which whelp Zeus would seek to replace him with, or Poseidon should he win that inevitable spat. Nothing mattered without her.

She snorted as if she could hear him, could hear the terror that lurked at the edges of his consciousness. Perhaps she could. Perhaps it was part of why she hadn’t told him; perhaps she knew he was too weak to bear the thought of her dying if – if things went really badly. She would not die. She would _not_. He looked for logical straws to clutch in his whirling mind and tried to hold them tight. She would have the finest care, and he would give his own life for hers if it came to it, somehow. He’d find a way if need be. Persephone was strong, a powerful goddess of life in her own right. She had survived more than a few attempts at this. Even if they lost the three, odds were good he wouldn’t lose her. For all he knew, there had been twins or triplets in the previous _losses_ ; the ability to determine such was, he knew, a modern invention.

He focused on that, breathing steadying as he made plans; yes, she would live. The children would — he would do everything he could to ensure the children lived, too. If this pregnancy went south, if he lost her, then they’d just cross the great beyond together, hand in hand. He stood on unsteady legs and caught the movement in the mirror as he rose; his father’s face looked back and he stared at his black eyes in the mirror. His father’s eyes.

 _Do you know why you were named as the unseen?_ Father’s voice whispered in his ear, dusty and dry as only ancient, inexorable truth could be. _Because you were better off invisible. You were never worthy of my crown. Everything you will ever hold dear will leave you no matter how hard you try to hold onto it; that is your fate. A lonely king, again and again, and again. Unseen. Unacknowledged. Invisible._

 _“No_ ,” he ground out through clenched teeth; Seph stirred in her sleep and he frowned. He had to get out of here before he was actually holding conversations with his ghosts. The ghost continued as if it was oblivious, though he knew in truth such phantoms did not care about anything beyond the wounding. _I am alive. I will always be alive. You and me, we live forever. Only you will know how little mercy that will be._ His father’s voice in his memory mocked; he took a deep breath and tightened his hands into a fist.

 _No. I’m not going to listen_.  He forced himself to close his eyes; when he re-opened them, his irises had returned to his chosen brown, and he looked himself.

He swallowed, uncomfortable with the expression of the man in the mirror. He had to – had to take a walk, get out of here, do _something_ before he tore himself completely insane. He ran a hand down Seph’s side.

“Lover?” She didn’t stir, only making an odd _mm_ and burrowing deeper into his pillow. Still not ready to wake up yet; unfortunate. He walked back over to his table, stared down at a bit of paper and tried to will the right words onto paper. _Nerves, wandering_ would alarm her; _just taking a walk_ seemed a bit too close to a lie. He stared at the note pad for a long second before finally scratching out _back in a moment – H_. It was not a lie, entirely, to say he would not be gone long; she might not even notice, given how deeply she was sleeping.  He would find a project to occupy himself and bring it back to her.

But then, _hm_ ; he frowned. She had not often appreciated his projects. Perhaps he could satisfy himself tidying, in helping her in the one way he could.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click and stalked up the steps to his own room, taking comfort in the familiarity of the old castle. It felt better with her in it, as always; and it was quiet as a tomb, also as always. He crossed the three stairwells to the private apartments of their home quickly; he found himself through the door and felt like it had been years since he had last been there — even if the bed, as meticulously made as he had left it, was proof enough that he had, in fact, been here less than twenty hours ago.

And yet. He cleared his throat and shook his hands; standing and staring and thinking about how things had changed would do no good. She would need clothing to meet with her half-sister, he could get her that much. He pulled one of her dresses out of the closet before remembering that it would not fit her and dropping it, the small garment falling to his feet as if the touch of it scalded. He went back further, wondering if she’d take him offering the old _peplos_ and _himation_ as an insult, but he couldn’t’ think of anything else she could possibly wear that would fit her for the moment, beyond that horrific button-up she’d borrowed from her homesteading mother. He’d have to get some catalogs brought down; she certainly wasn’t going to be in any state to go up for a shopping trip on the surface for months. Perhaps they should get some things for the — he closed his fists. He would like nothing better than to look through the intricate clothing they made for infants nowadays with her, but the thought of having to deal with such clothing if – if the worst came to pass was…unbearable. He tabled the thought; focus on the task, focus on the moment. After a second more of staring at the closet, he flicked her silky dressing gown on top; if nothing else, that. 

He grabbed a fresh suit as well, tossing it onto the bed to change into so he, too, would not look like a pauper king. After half a second, he pulled one of his own old himations down as well, figuring it could blunt her anger if she was offended if he offered to suffer the indignity of the old style with her. Olympus could run wild with the gossip that they behaved like cavemen in the underworld still; Hades truly did not care. His brothers underestimating him could only prove an asset, but then again, he did not wish to offend Persephone either, and at this point, Persephone had far more interaction with Olympus than he himself did.  He would give her options and she could let him know what she wanted; assuming her intentions had only buried him deeper in Tartarus. This task done, he ran a hand through his old hair and stared around the room, trying to find some way, any way, he could be useful.

But there was none.

He should take the clothes, go back down; it would not be that long before Eileithyia was back and he knew his wife would want to be up and ready by that time.

But what drew his attention next was not the clothing, or thoughts of Eileithyia.

It was the door, so rarely used, and so long sealed, on the other side of the wall. He knew what lay beyond it and felt a sudden, vexing need to be _in_ it. He could be useful there, could…make preparations, for the rooms they’d one day occupy if they... He put the clothes down on the chair; before he could quite stop himself from getting carried away, he unsealed the accursed doorway and stepped inside. He didn’t bother to reseal it; if Seph made it up here, she’d know from the state of the door where he was.

The hallway of abandoned, unused rooms loomed large.

There were many, many rooms, each with a name he’d inscribed into the doorways. Some of the doors were ancient; others, only a couple of centuries old. He debated where to put a new room in — and should it be one room, or three? He frowned; having grown up with siblings on every side, he would have preferred to have his own room, but, on the other hand, who was to say that they would take after him? Persephone was a far more social creature; she spent nearly every hour of the summertime with her mother, her sisters, and her brothers. He would make one room now, he decided; he could build more later after probing his wife’s mind on the matter. He held up his hand and pressed it to an empty space on the wall; then he stopped.  It…didn’t feel right, to build, just yet. The thought of it produced a strong dread, and his hand tightened into a tense fist. Why didn’t it feel right? There were so many questions. He winced, unsure. He wished she was awake. He wished she had told him sooner

He wished he could, desperately, know whether making the room was the right move or not. Would Persephone hate it, think it less a provided space to decorate and more him just orderin’ her around? She’d accused him of dictatorship more than once. He may have been a king, but when called that by his queen, the word turned sour.

He leaned his head onto the cool stone of the hallway, wishing, desperately, that he knew what to do.  He decided to wait, feeling useless. He turned to go back, to sheepishly lay her clothes out like an apology,  but something in the tableau of the accursed hallway was wrong, and he paused, trying to figure out the violation. It took him a moment, but when he saw it, he winced.

The door to Zagreus’ room was open – she’d dashed in it last year, during the …business with the songbird, and he hadn’t bothered to clear it out after she’d left, leaving these rooms to their usual state of quiet and neglected mourning. He stared at the old furniture, long-abandoned: the unused crib he’d made for her, months spent shaping and sanding the wood; the little bed meant for one of them to nap upon with the child, the old _kline_ something he’d assumed the boy would have slept in once he’d outgrown the crib.

The sheet on the _kline_ lay still rumpled in a sad little heap. He fixed them, gently smoothing out the _stromata_ into a perfectly crisp line, though such a task seemed pointless. He fluffed the pillow lightly and turned his gaze to the window. The little window he’d made – a high circle, the light from the Phlegethon framed just right to offer plenty of illumination yet never gaze directly upon a little face — shone out onto the oldest courtyard, thick with roots. It too had long been neglected. She’d come up with the idea of it once Zagreus was conceived, pointing out, reasonably, that the old poplars and gardens were too far for an infant’s legs to comfortably walk in, and she had wanted, even then, to share what bounty she could bring with their little infant.  He’d helped her, moving dirt for her to plant asphodels and root vegetables and a few of her favorite flowers that would require more of her power to bloom so far underground without sunlight; for his part, he carefully sculpted steady bridges and winding sidewalks. And for a moment, he’d been happy with it, and she had too, and he had dared to hope then, too, if all for naught. She’d abandoned it as soon as the child died, letting it lie as fallow as their bed; he’d kept at the garden longer, despite not having the aptitude for it, too stubborn to let it die. But even he had been worn down, eventually. Little by little he too had given up and turned away, embracing the steady beat of his own machinations, instead. He’d left it lie for good after they'd lost Petra that bleakest winter; let it grow over the marks he had made upon it, his own memorials buried in the abyss of time. The last flower he’d planted there was for Petra and he remembered it instantly; smooth grey stalk, marble-white petals. It made sense in a way; her brother’s grave was marble, too, and he’d thought that had formed its own kind of strange loop, once. Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

“Hades?” Her voice called to him; he turned back, saw his wife leaning in the doorway.

The look on her face – eyebrows raised to the ceiling, mouth pinched – could only be made out of concern. She wasn’t thrilled he’d come here, no doubt. He wasn’t thrilled to be caught here, either; this was supposed to be a new start, and he’d already messed it up.

“You managed the stairs,” he said, looking down at his hands. Useless old man; hadn’t even timed her getting her clothing right. She’d dressed in the robe he’d put out for her at least, the diaphanous silk doing nothing to hide her pregnancy. She hadn’t bothered to tie it and peaks of soft brown skin shown through the opening, leaving her almost bare and teasingly open to his gaze. She smiled at him; he wanted to run to her in response but all he could manage was a weak smile that he wasn’t entirely sure was not, in fact, a grimace instead.

“Sure did,” she said. She crossed the room in six paces and he watched, transfixed, as she stood in front of him. His attention fell naturally to her belly, and she let him look for a moment before gently touching his chin and guiding his eyes up to her face. She hadn’t bothered to put her hair up, and her rich curls cascaded down her shoulders like vines curled around the stone. “You give me your spot or you just let me take over?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He chuckled weakly and she looked at him, evaluating him for some sort of unspoken test that he was certain he was failing. Her mouth formed a thin line, unimpressed. “Don’t mind.” He cleared his throat. “You need more sleep than I do, lover. Always have. Especially…”

“Mmm.” She ran a hand over his chin, lightly scratching at his beard. He hadn’t shaved it in his duress and it was a bit longer and no doubt coarser than normal. “Why’d you come in here, Hades? Was mighty surprised, see this door open again. This ain’t a happy place for either of us.”

He looked down, away from her. What could he say? The thought of making the rooms seemed all too likely to catch her ire. He said nothing for a long moment. “I don’t…know,” he finally strangled out. She shook her head, her curls flying in every which direction.

“Hades,” she said, elongating his name in her syllables; he braced himself for the rebuke that was sure to come. She held out her hand and he stared at it, puzzled.  “Give me your hand.”

“I shouldn’t…” She growled in response and he hastily moved to satisfy her request and she, impatient,  grabbed his hand, all too hastily sliding it over her belly. His brow furrowed as he felt the child inside move.

“See?” She said so softly he wasn’t, entirely, sure that it was to him. “Still kickin’. Told you they liked to wander at night. Strong babies. Lots of life to ‘em.”

“Always are until…” He pulled his hand away and her face fell, turning away from him quickly but not quick enough that he didn’t catch the cracking thunder of her frown, the lightning that crashed through her eyes at the ugly reminder. She knew from those three words alone exactly what he thought of, and she didn't much like hearing it. She put one hand on a long-dormant cradle, silently holding it in judgment.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. He took a step closer, the floor creaking underneath his feet. He put a hesitant hand on her shoulder; she didn’t flick it off. He hoped that was a good sign. 

“Thought…” Her voice was a broken thing, and his heart broke open. He wanted so badly to hold her, to crush her in his arms and keep her as close to him as he could. “Thought you’d be so geared up about this that I’d wake up and you’d be wound around me like a big old python like yo used to be. Wake up, and I find yo hidin' in this hideyhole instead. You….so many times you’ve wanted this…”

“I _want_ this. Told ya. I’m…” He squeezed her shoulder, wishing he could embrace this but terrified to touch her more than he already was.

“You’re…” she clucked her tongue. “You’re what? Ya still sore I didn’t tell ya sooner? Ya throwin' a little pity party just so you can find the doom and gloom in a fuckin' miracle?”

He opened his mouth but the words remained clamped in his thick throat.  “I…I'm...” His hand tightened and he closed his eyes, tried to force the words up. “Terrified,” he ground out, before the rest was swallowed up by bricks he felt forming a wall deep in his throat, sealing up the exit.

“What?” She turned and he jumped back to give her space to maneuver; she crossed the space he’d vacated, slipping her arms around his shoulders. Her head followed, laying on his chest. “Of losin' 'em again? Never used to seem to bother you much before. Ought to be old hat by now. This is attempt…what is it now? One hundred and two? Three?”

He sighed, ignoring the mistake there — he'd mourned plenty, and he couldn't imagine she didn't know it. He let her lean into him; the extra weight to her was reassuring.

“Never gets easier. Harder if it's this far along.  I can’t…” His throat tightened and the last words came out weak. “Not strong enough to lose ya. Not again. Every time, it...”

Her arms cinched tighter around his shoulders; the pressure almost hurt but it was _her_ doing it and he let her. He wanted to hold her in return but couldn’t quite convince himself his touch wouldn’t prove fatal for their children. His hand hung awkwardly perched over her belly; she dragged it down and planted his fingers firm on her belly.

“Ain’t gonna lose me.” There was a quite significant omission there, but he didn’t dare bring it up. "You ain't. We're past that now. Promised one another that." 

“You can’t promise me fair skies anymore than I can promise a kind road,” he muttered. “Ain’t just the pain if they…go. I’ve seen more than enough women come straight to me from the birthing bed.” He moved his hand, cupping her head gently. “What if…”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “Oh, come here.”

She tugged his head back down and he fell into her. “I’ll follow if…” he whispered, but he couldn’t finish the thought.

“I know you would.” She stroked his head and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the proof of her presence: the weight of her in his arms, solid and strong. “Married a stubborn old git.”

She nudged his head up and he was confused, unsure as to why until she grabbed his chin with a hand and led him into one sweet kiss, then two. She sought a third but he pulled back, resting his hands in hers. She squeezed his palms. “Can’t promise I won’t…go. But I can promise that even if I do, I’ll wait around here for you to cross with us.  Told you, you’re stuck.” That was her best attempt at a joke, said with a wobbly smile; he seized on it. 

“Lucky me.” He did give her a third kiss then, a bit more intense than before; she picked up on his ardor, deepened it, her tongue lightly brushing against the tip of his lip. He wanted to open his mouth wider and let her in, but instead, he pulled back. She flinched.

“Shouldn’t touch you over much,” he muttered, looking down at his hands. “Maybe this is...why we lost —”

She stared down at his rough, old hands, gently taking one between her own. So young, still, in comparison to him. She smiled, tapping his old ring with her own; the metal made a pleasing, soft _ting_. He was happy enough with that. He tried to pull back, minimize her exposure, but quick as a vine she grabbed it back.  She sighed.

“You’re being an idiot,” she said, but the tone was at least lukewarm and not without affection.

“Cautious—“ he offered; she shot him a pair of daggers and he looked away.

“ _An idiot_ ,” she hissed. She held his band over her belly. “These three? They are _your blood._ Your _babies._ A combination of you and me. Ain’t nothin’ inherent in your touch that’s gonna hurt them.”

“You got farther without me than with—“

“Hades.” She shook her head, cutting him off evenly at the pass. “Kneel.”

“What?”

She stared at him, gimlet-eyed. “Gonna prove it to ya.”

He slowly bent down, ignoring the crack from knees unaccustomed to showing such fealty. For anyone else, he would have laughed; from her, the obedience was, in its own way, automatic.

“Hands.”

He looked at her, mouth pursed into a thin line. He could tell what she was gonna do, and he’d never forgive himself if she wound up proving his suspicions true. He suspected she wouldn’t forgive him either, and wouldn’t that just put them right back to where they were, chanting their disappointments at one another ‘til they were blue in the face? “Lover, I—“

 _“Hands._ ”

Against his better judgment, he offered them. She pulled his hands tight against her belly, moving them in slow, curious patterns; he looked warily up at her from his vantage point. “What if…“ he risked, and she shot him a scolding look that, even from his mostly obscured viewpoint, he could see the fierce firelight of her eyes.

“If I get any sense they’re in distress, I’ll stop. Promise. Ain’t riskin’ em, you know that.” She smoothed his rough palms over her soft skin, again and again, and ignored the way his hands shook. “See? That’s your daddy there. That’s your _daddy._ ” She led his hands into divots in her skin, little stretch marks where the children had already changed her. He’d somehow assumed they’d be the same as they were with Zagreus, those little marks already well familiar to his fingers, but these three had rewritten the map of her skin.

“Now, head too, come on.” He looked up at her, shook his head slightly.

“I’m…I’m…”

“ _Please._ ” She dropped her hands away and ran them through his hair, frowned when she noticed it was slightly damp. “C’mon, you already had your head there at the station and they were fine. Gonna be fine here, too. Let’em get used to you. They’re just fine. I'll tell you when— _if_ —they ain't.”

He nodded, swallowed. He tried to pull some of the fabric from her open dressing gown over her belly, some form of barrier, but she gently smacked his hand.

“Skin to skin. That’s what’s natural. How it should be.” 

He felt almost nauseous doing so, but settled against her, pressing his forehead to her belly; the act of listening felt too overwhelming at this moment, and she didn’t push him into it, just gently smoothing her hands through his hair as he held his forehead to her belly. He wasn’t sure how long they remained like that; his knees started to ache a bit but he didn’t dare move.

“Talk to ‘em,” she said, voice vulnerable with notes in it he hadn’t heard in a long time.

“What should I say?” He murmured; he followed a flash of movement with his fingers and started, slowly, to relax. “I don’t know what to…”

“Sing for ‘em.” He looked up and she nodded her head. “They’re restless. Could use a little lullaby.”

He felt absurdly vulnerable; he closed his eyes and tried to push the brick wall in his throat down; it took a moment and he struggled, an ugly noise coming out of his throat for a moment. She didn’t comment on the failure of it and he groaned into her belly. "I don't know what to do...

She hummed a familiar song softy and he looked up, startled; _“La, la la la la la la,”_ she whispered, "that one, please,"; he repeated the ancient melody dumbly and didn’t miss the way her hands clenched him just a bit tighter, the way her voice inhaled softly in response. 

He stood, knees fighting him the whole way, and turned her around so he could embrace her from behind, needing suddenly and terribly to smell her hair, to kiss at her neck. “ _La, la la la la la,_ ” He repeated, her humming underneath it. His hand cupped the top of her belly and he felt a soft kick against his palm. She tilted her neck for better access and he took the hint, kissing the mother while holding all four. His world laid in his hands. And it felt — right. It felt like they were back in tune again, for a moment, and he closed his eyes and held her tight, not wanting it to end, scared for the seemingly inevitable moment that they wouldn’t be.

“They like that melody,” she said, and he made a quiet _mm_ in response, unsure what to say. She looked out toward the courtyard; he was surprised she had. It had to have been the first she’d done so in centuries. After a moment, she looked up at him and pulled away, tugging at his hand.  

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of here. I ain’t seein’ Eilei in my damn robe.”

“Do you want…help? Dressing?” He wouldn’t mind; he liked dressing her and a part of him was afraid that if she left him alone, the peace inside him would fade again, and he’d be left with no better company than his own thoughts — which he had learned were very poor company indeed.

“You can watch.” She winked at him and smirked, and sauntered out the door at a sashay that burned through his mind. He closed the door to Zagreus' room in the old hallway and followed her through, not daring to look back until he was sealing the door behind him.

Dressing her took surprisingly little time; she accepted the old clothes with good grace, letting him tuck her in with touches that were not entirely innocent. Her body like this was alluring, the urge to wrap himself tightly around her almost overwhelming. She was no less afflicted; after he'd helped her find a pair of old sandals that he could manage to slide around her feet, she’d spent several minutes kissing him, slow, almost torturous kisses that made him whimper against her. She pulled back after a moment; surprise written on her face, then shook her head. “Sorry.”

“Everything alright?”

“Just fine. They’re just a bit active, is all. Shiftin' and wanderin'.” She snorted. “Can’t even imagine where they get this urge to stalk around everywhere from.” She smirked up at him and he nodded. No point in denying it.

“Only at night, hm?” He wondered if that was a sign that they’d take a bit more after him, if they…if they made it.

“Not only,” she said. “But we've taken a lot of midnight strolls.” She grabbed his hands and smiled up at him; he could tell she had an idea, and one she was fond of. She draped her hand over his arm and tugged him toward the door.

“Speaking of…C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Hm?” He stumbled after her, feeling dumb. He’d missed something.

“Got a bit of time before Hermes catches the night train back. Got a whole courtyard we made to walk with our babies so…lets go walk with our babies.” She snorted. “Otherwise, we’re gonna wind up getting interrupted by Hermes while we’re horizontal.”

Struck a bit dumb by the thought of horizontal activities, and the sudden awareness that such activities were potentially on the table, he debated enduring giving Hermes and Eileithyia an eyeful, only to find she’d continued down the staircase in his reverie, and he had to scramble to keep up.

It took him a few precious seconds longer for his brain to realize her destination; a cold horror filled him, and his eyes must have widened because she stopped, tilting her head up at him.

And he knew he had already ruined their new normal. _Again._

“What’s gotten into you?” He opened his mouth to answer the question, mind spinning to find a way to explain his old puttering without upsetting her.

“Just…let’s walk in the house, lover. Hermes will be here soon enough.” He opted for deflection instead; it had worked in the past, and he gave her a thin attempt at a winning smile, patting her arm in gentle comfort. “What if you need to rest? Stayin' inside, could get ya to a nice couch if you get…tired.”

“Ain’t that old or that delicate,” she said, but he heard the edge to it. “I want to see our plants. I want to walk on dirt—"

“It's overgrown,” he said, trying to shrug it off. “Overgrown and choked up. Lord knows what it's gotten to since we last opened those gates.”

“Might be new hybrids,” she said, grinning and rubbing her belly. “Like these three.”

That was not quite true, he thought; they were the same species, him and her, different generations but the same, deep down inside. If Aphrodite and _Ares_ could have multiple offspring spanning the two generations breadth between his aunt and his nephew, well then, surely the fault was not in the difference between their birth dates.

But he had wasted far too much time thinking on it and she had moved forward again, whirling around and walking down the end of the stairs. She shot him a patented Persephone grin, that _ain’t-I-clever_ grin that always took his breath away; today was no exception. He didn’t return her smile, too queasy, and she nodded, eyes hardening.

“Why don’t you want to go?” She snorted. “You fussin’ again already? You’re worse than ma.” She smacked his arm, playful but with a knife edge to it, like it could scratch him if he refused to acquiesce. But he had to.

“Something like that.” It was a dodge but a bad one; she frowned. He’d failed. She’d see what he’d done there and hate it. He knew it. She’d told him she hadn't wanted any kind of memorial after the first one and he'd gone and done it and now explaining such, after so many years...

“Hades.” Her voice had gone down, disappointment high in her low voice. “We’re going.”

“Hermes—" he started, and she held out a hand.

“Will find us, as he always does.” Her speed had increased, now almost marching through the halls toward the back of the house. “What are you hidin', Hades? It's obvious its _somethin_ '.”

“You won’t like it…” He trailed off; she glared at him, nostrils out, head back like she was going to snap at him.  

“Won’t like _what_?” She held out an arm, gestured. He said nothing.

“Some machine?  What kind? Some new generator? A projector? One of those new ice boxes? An oil rig?”

“None of that,” he said, hands out and mind spinning: not half an hour ago, she was in his arms, humming a song of their love. Now she was all oil-fire, spitting mad and taking every bit of oxygen he contributed as a reason to burn bigger, brighter. She winced for a second and he wondered with more horror if the children could feel the stress of their arguments.

“Then what?” she said but he barely heard it, blood in his ears, poison in his chest. He felt like every bit of time was speeding up, but for his brain and his mouth, both still moving far too slow. How to explain his weakness? She has never wanted to remember the past, had always held the present sacred. She’d see it and she would _hate_ it.

“Forget it,” she snapped; “Guess I’ll see it myself.”

She slid through the door, surprisingly fast; he stumbled over a root trying to follow, and didn’t catch up to her until she entered the gate. She hadn’t locked it behind her and he supposed that was a good sign. Decades of leaves crunched under his heel; he winced as he caught up to her. She was pulling plants gently, maneuvering them with her powers away from the main path. The vines swayed at her command, crawling away from the stone into the deep mulch below.

“Lots of work,” she snapped at him; he nodded.

“Don’t over—"

“Don’t.” She shook her head and her power flared through her; he felt the blast of life run through him and the plants beyond. The vines moved faster, growing and slithering away from the walkway, then up trellises in his benches and in the fence around, until the ground looked as it once had when they’d last walked this path together…with the exception of the flowers he had made, which had been meant as a memorial but looked nothing but sentimental and foolish, even mawkish. It was embarrassing but there was little hiding from them; they’d had enough …misfortunes that the ground and the trees were littered with them.  

“What is…?” She glared at a tree and plucked one of his handicrafts out; a golden flute, brass leaves. A tulip; she caught the delicately titan written titan-script. He caught her lips making out the syllables; _A-re-te_. She looked up at him and frowned and he braced himself for criticism.

“Are these…?” She ducked down, pulling up the sister marker to the one in her hand: lapis lazuli spread in an iris' pedals, platinum stem. She rubbed her hands over the old text, mouth moving with it: _Fla-vi-a._ She scratched her hands over the date. “Oh…you? One for…”

“Each.” He cleared his throat, delicately touched the stem. It had been a summer hobby, for a while. He’d planned on making them toys, but… There hadn’t even been enough to bury, and there needed to be something to show their existence. There needed to be _somewhere_ for them. If he could not raise them, he would at least mark their passing. Each had a name and several numbers; a date written twice—first by the tally of years in his reign, then by the mortal reckoning above, in whatever calendar Persephone was using at the moment.

“Oh.” She turned it in her hand, shook her head. “You old _fool_.” It was a warmer critique than expected, her voice honey-sweet; she put back both flowers exactly where they were pulled. She did not pull another.

“Flowers….and gems.” Her eyes glanced toward him, her tongue between her lips in a thoughtful pout. “You couldn’t know which they would have…” She curled back toward the accursed poplar. “Hedging your bets.”

“Yes.” The names, too, had been only guesses, but she knew that as much as he did.

“Quiet man, my man. This your summer project before you decided to build that hideous old town?” He nodded. She looked up at him, sadness in those sunshine-warm eyes. “I wish you could have told me you did this.”

He frowned, his eyes down. Words had never been his talent and when she wasn’t mad as a hornet, she’d been blissfully aware of it, hadn’t minded his silences. It had taken him a year to tell her how he felt about her but she’d known, known from the first moment, his love for her, what she did to him; she’d told Charon within two dates that she was his queen, had sat side-saddle on his lap and damned anyone who would offer criticism of her marriage-choice with a death-glare he loved. She was always was better at knowing his mind than most.

He was not so good at reading her, it seemed.  “You told me. _No more sorrows. Keep movin’ forward. We gotta forget it._ ” That had been the winter after Zagreus had died; he shrugged as if that explained it. He hadn’t brought it up then; how could he? She had born so much pain. How could he tell her something that may bring more? When would have been the optimal time – when she was going back to her mother after only a week below, her eyes still red with tears for the son they had lost? 300 years later, when they lost the next, and she’d locked herself in the bath for hours on end, refusing to let him in? Or perhaps a century ago, when she’d gotten to the point she was catatonic for weeks on end when one left? Even a year or two ago, she’d have been too busy trying to drink herself to death, and he doubted she’d have found this anything more than an excuse to drink more.  “I…thought it would…” He could not find a way to say it. Her mourning had been as intense as his own, if not more so.

“It might have.” Her voice was wet as she pressed a hand to her eyes; the tears were unnerving. Persephone had always been as good as he had been in hiding his emotions. “Come here, you,” she said; he did, he let his arms fall around her as she nestled her head into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He pressed gentle strokes into her back as best he could and she nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said again and knew it was for more than just keepin’ quiet. “I don’t know…didn’t know how to say…” He tipped her chin up to kiss her, hoped that this way of expressing himself was a little clearer, that he was sorry but that he was not sorry too; that he had been in pain, and was still in pain, and was trying to find his way back to bein’ good with her and not, really, understanding a damn bit of how to do that beyond trying his best. She leaned into it; the kiss was long, leisurely; the sort of kiss that was content to tease and stroke at favored spaces, knowing exactly what it took to drive the other wild but not in such a hurry to get there.  Been married long enough he knew they could take their time, and did, letting the kiss build to a natural crescendo.

She deepened the kiss, hands winding around his mouth in a struggle; he curved to allow her better access, her hands pullin’ hungry across his back and nippin’ at him for a long moment before finally pulling away. “It was a right nice gesture,” she said, drying her eyes. “Right nice. To think I thought you’d hooked up a generator for the dog’s house. Just jumped right on ya like a mongoose after a snake.”

“None of that,” he kissed the tip of her head. “None of that. My fault. If you don’t like the markers…” he moved his jaw, trying to find an acceptable compromise.  “We’ll move'em.” He couldn’t bear to suggest disposing of them; much to his relief, she shook her head to the suggestion.

“No, no need. Not yet.” He nodded, content to let it be for the moment. He rocked her gently back and forth, pressing little kisses to the top of her head as she rubbed small circles on his back. Relief sagged through him.

“You wanna see the others?” He asked, voice rough. He felt exposed, but…he would share the road with her. Wasn’t that what he’d promised? To walk the road with her, even if it was rocky? Gaia alone knew what a cliff they’d walked off of all those years ago.

“Let's walk,” she said. “Can’t guarantee a kind road through here, but…Let’s walk. We got a little bit of time and I ain’t..ain’t been around in a while. Maybe you could show me what you did.” She grabbed his hand and held it. “No more secrets. We gotta figure out how to do this right, Hades. _Talk_ , for once.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he muttered, resolute. “We will. I’m…” He squeezed her hand, pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I’m not going to bury my head; no more keepin' in low.”

“No more keepin' my head in a bottle neither,” she said; she let go of his hand and moved closer, sliding her hand around his waist. “No more.”

And maybe that was what they needed, he thought; maybe it was just a matter of trying. If they could make it to six months, maybe they could make it to the end of the line, too. He closed his eyes and pressed the small of her back, inhaled the scent of her hair. He wasn’t sure, in truth, if they could make it, the children, or them. He'd seen the bad times too much to believe they weren't coming again, but he hoped,  _desperately_ , that maybe they were just a little wiser now, a little less prone to making mistakes. 

But he knew, for the first time, how to try. He was scared, and she was scared too, but: they had one another. And they would talk to one another. And for the first time in a very long time, he dared to hope perhaps it would be alright, and he let some of the misgivings he'd held tightly clutched between his fingers go, his fingers finding purchase around her hips instead. She'd proven in the room of their dead above that she wanted him, and maybe they could walk this road together even if he was joining it late and joining it scared; all he could do was put one foot after another, and he would do his best to do so no matter how much it hurt. 

"Talk to me," she said. "Tell me what you're feeling right now. _Honestly_. Not what you think I want to hear." 

And for the first time in a very long time, he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I am still behind in comments, I am sorry, I am working to get caught up!)
> 
> Notes:
> 
> Tantalus - Prisoner of the underworld, put into Tartarus for serving his son to the gods during a banquet....which fortunately almost everyone avoided eating, except for Demeter (who was very depressed due to losing Seph recently). The gods were actually so pissed that they restored the son to life, giving him an ivory shoulder to replace the part that Demeter chomped on, and Tantalus got sent straight to the underworld, express-style. 
> 
> Zagreus - one of Persephone's children in Greek myth, usually after being raped by/having sex with Zeus; this fic version steals from Statius, instead, who says Hades was Zagreus' father. Generally, Zagreus is a proto-Dionysus but in this fic universe, they're different characters.
> 
> (mitéra) Rhea - mitéra = mother, in modern Greek. I would have used ancient but the world in ancient greek for mother, μήτηρ (mḗtēr) is a bit confusing. Rhea is Hades' mum and the goddess of growth, and ...well, their relationship isn't exactly _great_. 
> 
> Eileithyia - Goddess of childbirth; one of Hera and Zeus' daughters, making her Seph's half-sister and Hades' niece. BFF with the fates and her momma. 
> 
> Iapetus & Clymene - Iapetus was the titan god of mortality and Clymene, his wife, was the goddess of renown, fame, and infamy; Iapetus was Cronos brother and, like his brother, was put into Tartarus at the end of the war. Clymene's fate is vaguer but in this fic universe, she's down there with him. Iapetus is Hades' uncle (and thus Seph's great-uncle) and ruled the underworld before he did in some sources. In some sources, Iapetus' sons were thought to have been the ancestors of humans, eventually dying from the mortality inherited from their father, and passing that trait onto the rest of us. Not something I'm using in this fic universe but it is where some of the idea of Hades and Seph being prone to miscarriages came from.
> 
> \- Hades' father - Cronus, god of time. , Cronus found out one of his sons was fated to take over for him and kinda sorta...did not take it well, at all, and by that I mean he went home and decided he was going to swallow ALL his kids, and then those kids rebelled against him and wound up taking over the universe. Imprisoned in Tartarus, making him keenly Hades' responsibility. A large source of Hades' (numerous) issues. 
> 
> \- Hera and Demeter - Hera is Seph's aunt and Hades' sister and Queen of Heaven and not, in this fic universe, fond of Seph or Seph's mom, Demeter. 
> 
> \- Poseidon and Zeus - Hades' brothers, and Seph's uncle (Poseidon) and father (Zeus). In the division of the world at the end of the Titanomachy, they got the two halves of the universe that Hades did not (the sea and the sky, respectively). 
> 
> \- kline, stromata - ancient greek bed (or couch) and sheets, respectively. 
> 
> \- Aphrodite & Ares - Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, and Ares, god of war, and olympian disaster couple. Aphrodite being a daughter of Uranus, is actually from the same generation of Gods as Ares' father's father.


	15. Begin the Beguine [27. Giggly Kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Vixen,” he said. His hands ran up and down her sides and he took a deep breath, inhaling deeply, then lettin' all that air out. “Temptress.”_
> 
> _“Pretty sure I’m the one bein’ tempted here,” she said, and he gave her a low and throaty laugh that did nothin’ to dispel the thought_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place five days after [Damocles' Overture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/45240586); thousands of years before Hadestown (classical mythology times). 
> 
> Rating: M  
> Warning(s): Sexual Discussions, Some Mild Sexual Content, Lying to One's Mother About How Much One Has Macked on One's Uncle

Once, Persephone had wondered if it was possible to sleep in the Underworld: it felt like time stopped moving there, and certainly in the time she spent with Hades, time certainly felt like it had stopped.

She’d kissed him what had to feel like a hundred times over the days she’d been there, feverish days where they could get to know one another without fear of her mama, still bringin’ the harvest to bloom. They’d kissed and kissed and barely done more than kiss in truth; oh, they’d played games, and chit-chatted, and took a few walks but – mostly, even then, she’d been thinkin’ about when she could kiss him again, and she knew he were thinkin’ just the same, and sooner or later one of ‘em would dart in for a kiss, and the world below would stop. And by the time it started rolling again, they’d both be thinkin’ about the next time, and she knew it was both of ‘em thinkin’ about it cause even Hades, even dour, sour old Hades, had a big grin on his face when he pulled back.  

Five days. She grinned into the pillow, curled up snug as a rug in a guest bedroom he’d made for ma, but only Persephone had slept in. She giggled as she burrowed down deeper into the sheets; it was cold in the underworld, and he hadn’t allowed himself to warm her bed yet, but he’d been awfully kind in all other respects and everything down here had the same earthy scent she associated with him. Especially the peplos she’d stolen one of his chitons to make, since she could hardly be expected to run around in the same old dress day after day; what was knee-length on him dangled over her feet but oh – she loved this dress.

It smelled like him.

She huffed at it, greedy, and wondered when he’d come to her. He’d let her sleep each night – he didn’t bother, she knew now; like ma, he never really seemed to need it so much. He checked on her early every morning, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was still there.

And he’d been grinnin’ then, too.

Five days! He had let her stay for five whole days, and she knew uncle Hades must like her at least a little because why else would he keep around her every single waking moment? He was a king and _important_ and yet he’d spent nearly every moment of nearly a week with her. Five days somehow felt like forever now; she’d been a girl then, and now she was, well, if not a woman, something so much closer to one.

There was a knock at the door, and she smiled.

“I’m decent,” she shouted; the knob turned, and there he was: he’d bathed since the time he’d left her for her sleep, his hair still damp and she swallowed at the thought of touching it, or, even better, touching what lay behind his robes. Would his skin be damp, too? Slick against her palms? He hadn’t asked for sex but she was sure it was an option, and one she was very eager to pursue. She raised an eyebrow and cocked a finger toward him. He huffed in amusement.

“You’re wicked,” he said, voice still as stone but somehow, she sensed, joking; she giggled and he smiled, sticking his hands into his pockets. “And beautifully so.”

“Glad you like it. Ain’t intending on stoppin’ being naughty any time soon.” She tried to sit up in bed; if her dress fell a bit open when she did, so much the better. She wanted to know he liked the view.

His eyes remained, stubbornly, on her face. “That so?” He asked, voice caught with something she couldn’t quite read yet – a wavering of some sort, something that made her feel a warm blush deep in her core that she quite liked.

“Mmmhm.” She held out an arm. “I’m lonely. Keep me company?”

He moved forward like a predator, stalking up the few steps between them and then setting his big body down on the bed with her; wasn’t a lot of room to move, with him there, and she thought about askin’ if he’d maybe like to share her bed, but the look on his face had shifted to right thoughtful and she hoped he was thinking about how to make the move himself. Would be easier if he did it; he had some experience at his age, she was sure — she wasn’t an expert in these things, but his kissing hadn’t been bad. Not bad at _all._

One of his big hands gently reached over, grabbed hers, held it and nothing more. She wondered just what he would say, what sort of game he’d use. It wouldn’t take much to seduce her; she found him very handsome already. Maybe he’d ask if she intended to spend another day as he had every other day; she couldn’t imagine sayin’ no to that deep old voice, especially if he followed it up with a question about staying _in bed_ … Why, she’d tell him her answer with a kiss. A good and seductive one, throw her legs over his bigger ones like the first time and kiss him till he finally finished the job of makin her a woman. His woman, ideally.

“Look like you want to ask me somethin’,” she purred. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, but the little smile he’d make when she dared to be seductive disappeared, his deep inhale more warning than come-on.

“I looked in on your mama,” he muttered, and she bit her lip. That was not what she wanted to hear. “Looks like the harvest is just about done. I should – should bring ya back today.”

She groaned; not what she wanted at all. She loved ma, she did, honestly and truly so, but Hades was new and intoxicating and she wanted nothin’ more than to stay and kiss him all day and all night long.

“What if I ain’t want to go, just yet?" She rose fully, now — time seemed to be limited, and she didn’t want to waste it not touchin’ him. She crawled toward him and he didn’t move away much, just scootin’ to give her space and offerin’ his hand when she’d gotten comfortable sittin’ beside him. She debated goin’ farther, sittin’ on his big lap and lettin’ him take care of things, but now she wondered just how to do that.

“Didn’t think you’d stay this long, that’s the truth of it.” He was gruff but his fingers traced her own, gently capturing her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. “Don’t beg for me to keep ya, Persephone. I might consider it.”

“I am mighty fine company, ain’t I?” She leaned against him, unsure and trying to lighten the suddenly heavy mood with a joke. Hadn’t really discussed what would happen now; would they still be an _us_ when she was up top and he was down here? Would he still be visitin’ her meadows, only now instead of just huggin’, they’d be kissin’? She would like that, thought he’d look nice in the sunlight. But that sort of emotion felt hard to express; there was a lump in her throat and she wasn’t quite sure how to say it, and she looked down, uncertain.

Hades’ finger tapped at her chin, brought her back up to his eye level. She swallowed, reflexively, as his head moved closer. “You are,” he said, and then he kissed her, and it was a sweet one; quick and kind, just a little bit of his lips brushing against her own. She leaned forward as he retreated, not letting him off the hook, and gave him another peck. “Hm,” he said, a phrase that seemed to mean nothing but somehow, she decided, meant she should kiss him again anyway. She felt a steady warmth building through her as he very slowly worked a series of kisses; soft, sweet, breathy ones, like they had all the time in the world.

“Was a mighty fine time I had,” she said, awkwardly, brushin’ her hair back from her ears as they separated. “Surely appreciate you playin’ host.”

“Mm. Quite so.”  He kissed her again — slower, more tenderly, and this time when he pulled away, he didn’t go far: he rested his big forehead against her own. Such a big man, he was, she thought; his head was big, and his hands, and his feet, and she wondered if it would hurt when they — well, it would be worth it.

Neither of them said much for a few moments; she wondered what he was thinkin’. She ran her hand up his side and he let her, his eyes open and lookin’ down on her in a strange sort of studyin’, like this was some experiment he was playin’. She refused to be cowed, looked up at him with her big brown eyes that ma always said had been her flashiest feature. Dust-storm eyes, just like her ma.  

“When am I gonna see ya ‘gain?” she asked; he looked up, surprise plainly written on his face. “You still gonna come to our meadow…?”  
  
“You're tired of me, I'm sure,” he said; he looked away from her, moving like he was gonna run, but because he was so big, he wasn’t so fast, and she easily grabbed his shoulder.

“No. Ain’t tired.” She hooked it around his shoulder and looked up at him; his face was blank, but it slowly melted as she cupped his chin. “Ain’t tired at all.”

He grunted, leaned forward and kissed her again. “Okay,” he said, and nothing else.

That hadn’t really cleared anything up, but he nodded as if it had. “Can we keep — kissin’?” she asked; her voice went up without her meanin’ to, a squeaky thing, but she didn’t have time to parse it, because then his mouth closed over hers, and this wasn’t so sweet so much as just hot; heavier pressure to his lips, one of his hands movin’ to hold her cheek nice and still.

His other hand hesitantly brushed her shoulder, and she fell back onto the little bed, swallowing. Felt more vulnerable a second later; he leaned down languidly and gave her one kiss, than another. She spread her legs a little further to allow him to lay between her own; “hm” he said, then his tongue lightly pressed against her lower lip, and she knew now from hours of practice what he wanted was in and she was more than happy to let him.

“Good,” he muttered against her mouth, and then he shifted to hold her head to his lips as his tongue gently probed her mouth. She tried to answer back but couldn’t help but feel ill-equipped, her tongue too dumb and clumsy. Still, he didn’t seem to mind. Time froze; she was only aware of his body, heavy on top of hers, but not nearly so heavy as the thought rampaging through her mind that surely soon he’d put his hands down and pull her skirts up and finish what he’d been teasin’ all weekend.

She moaned against him and he seemed to like that encouragement a lot; he pulled back slightly and looked at her, his eyes full of somethin’ hot and heavy, but instead of hitching her skirts up, he shifted, moving back into a sitting position. He took her with him, his strong hands lifting her legs, pressing her smaller chest against his own. His heart was beatin’ hummingbird fast and she doubted hers was runnin’ any slower.

“This is…very nice,” he muttered. _“This.”_ Wasn’t clear if he meant the kissin’ or the relationship itself or maybe just the position he’d pushed them in; anyway, she’d take it.   

“Yes,” she whispered. “ _Yes_.” She wanted to be his; she grabbed his head and forced him into another kiss, then another. She wiggled, shifting so she could get his mouth better, and he hissed, hands tight on her hips.

“Vixen,” he said. His hands ran up and down her sides and he took a deep breath, inhaling deeply, then letting all that air out. “Temptress.”

“Pretty sure I’m the one bein’ tempted here,” she said, and he gave her a low and throaty laugh that did nothin’ to dispel the thought. He pulled away and tucked her against his throat in a strange but nice sort of cuddle; he liked this a lot, her head on his neck, holdin’ her like she was a part of him. Was right nice and she thought, a girl could used to this sort of treatment.  She wiggled a little closer, but he shook his head.

“Should — should get up now,” he said, a sad smile on his face. “Long road ahead. I’ll walk ya up myself.”

“Have to change, then,” she said, sadly. “Ma won’t like the black.”

“Well,” he said, soft-voiced. “I think black looks mighty fine on you.” He got up quickly after that, like compliments were somethin’ he was allergic to givin’; she’d wanted to ask if he’d help her dress but he’d gone quickly, already to the door by the time the thought occurred.

“Be downstairs,” he drawled, and shut the door with a soft but important _click_. She dressed quickly, or quickly as she could without help. The bright green smelled like ma, still, like sunshine. She didn’t want to let his old chiton go; hopin’ he’d not take too unkindly to it, she grabbed it and pulled it slowly into a wrap over her shoulders. The combination of scents — sunshine like mama, earthy like him — smelled just right, and she closed her eyes and saved it a moment before bounding down the steps.

He was at the bottom step and his eyes sparkled like coal-cut diamonds watchin’ her move, black and dark but bright and brilliant all the same. “Well,” he said.  “That looks — “

“Do you mind?” She shot him one of her best smiles and he reared back as if she’d gone and shot one of Artemis’ arrows right at him.

“N…no.” He stumbled. “No. Looks right nice on you. Keep it.” It would be hard to do so — she’d have to make up a good lie to mama, to explain how a bolt of so expensive and so perfect black cloth found its way to her, but she grinned up at him all the same, thrilled with the thought of keeping it, of smelling a bit of him whenever she wanted. She wanted to do that a lot. 

“Thank you,” she said, and took his hand.

They started the walk back from then on in silence, and she was thinking about kissing him and wondered if he was doing the same. He’d glance at her from time to time – his eyes broody, she thought, maybe, or maybe just thinking; with him was hard to tell. He didn’t make a move so much, but his fingers slid through the long mess of her hair after they’d gotten into the fields and she’d leaned into that.  Her hair was a good feature and everyone said so; curls tight as her ma’s but with her pa’s red-brown color.  She leaned a little closer so he could touch a bit more, and he kept touching and she kept sliding her hand across his waist and next thing she knew, he'd stopped, just far enough in the fields they couldn’t see his big, endless void of a house anymore.

“You truly are a temptress,” he muttered in that voice, that deep voice, that voice that sounded like stone vibrating straight to her cunt. What could she do but smile and kiss him, kiss him real good? She jumped up as best she could but he was bendin’ even as she moved, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and he held her and they _kissed._ He moaned into her mouth, stumbling into her, and she giggled, intoxicated on the powerful effect of makin’ this  _great king_ lose his senses a bit. She was certainly getting intensive practice at kissing him and wondered, in careful study, if she put her tongue just…there…He whimpered. Gods above, that noise, that noise, she never knew he could make that noise…it was _addicting_. She focused on trying to replicate it until she had to come up for air, their lips making a soft noise of protest as they parted.

“What you do to me,” he muttered, the tone almost bashful and the face certainly so, flushed and just a bit sweaty. She didn’t care. She drew him up into another kiss, and Hades leaned down, his hands going under her legs and pulling her literally up into his big arms. She hung there for a moment, clinging tightly to him and his grip was real careful holdin’ her. Secure arms, but not scaldingly so; she didnt feel trapped, just safe and warm. She kissed him like he was the only drop of water in a hot, hot desert, and he grunted, moving forward. She didn’t like the walkin’ forward part so much – walkin’ meant partin’, and right now she – she didn’t want to be parted. Ma would understand if she were late. She’d make up a good story, somehow.

“Stop,” she muttered softly, wiggling against him.

“Kissin’ or walkin’?”

“Walkin’. _Never_ stop kissin’.” He liked the answer; she caught the ivory-glint of his teeth as he smiled, and then his lips ghosted hers again. She whimpered as he kissed her harder; he shifted her again and gently put her down on the roots of the fields.

He followed her down, sittin’ right at her side, careful to position himself so as not to have an ungentlemanly view.

“Never?” He muttered, cheeks adorably hot.

“Never _ever_.” She tugged him down after her and ignored the strange feeling of the mist that pressed against them on the ground level as he dove down and kissed her again and again. The underworld was a bit strange but it was a good strange; the fog kissed her eyelids and the roots underneath her curled in her anticipation and he didn’t comment on it.

“Be careful what you say,” he rumbled, chasing the warning with a soft, very chaste kiss. “Especially to a man who has the means to make that promise come true.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Who says I ain’t careful? You —“ he interrupted her speech with a devastating blow of ticklish kisses to her ear, then biting down gently, but hard enough to send a shot of honey-coated lightning straight to her cunt. “ _Ohhh_.” He chuckled and repeated it, leaving her little more than a squirming mess. Whatever she was saying, it was gone in favor of _him._

“So beautiful,” he muttered into her ear, a warm and affectionate little purr that took her breath away. The heavy weight of him settled on her, and she wrapped her arms around his back, trapping him pressing kisses down her ears, her neck. He went a little lower, pulling the dress just a bit down, and her breath caught. Was he finally gonna cross that road? He stroked the delicate skin of her throat like he was transfixed and softly pressed a final kiss to her sternum. Then he pulled away, withdrawing from the tight contact. “You are truly the most beautiful woman in creation.”

“You ain’t so ugly yourself, mister,” she purred; she caught a scoff from him but didn’t care, reaching out to grab his head and yank it back to her. He groaned and shifted on top of her, making room for a rather obvious bulge that was quite diligently trying to get her attention, pressed up against her belly. It got it. She wrapped her hand around his back, trying to force him to stay down and chase that friction. He moaned, that low bass vibrating deep into her bones.

Time broke away from them again, and she lost herself in him, in the way he made her feel. He was like an earthquake, and her legs quivered like the earth, what lay between wetter than any flooding plain and she wanted to be touched by him, touched and molded again and again and again and his lips rose up to fulfill that challenge, kissin’ and bitin’ and strokin’ til she thought she would just shudder into a new plane of existence. He pulled back, breathin’ heavy. His mouth was swollen and she was pretty sure hers was too; it stung a bit when he pressed a final, chaste kiss to her lips and he pulled back, eyes unmistakably dark with some unspoken current.

She swallowed and shifted her legs open: his head went down to nibbling on her ear with a soft huff and she licked her lips. Surely now, surely this moment; she didn’t know when she’d see him again and she was certain he’d want to finish the job before leavin’ her with her ma. He had a reputation for being diligent, after all. She reached for his clothes, fingers nimbly tugging on the knot –

“No.” He jerked off the top of her, rolling into the bed of roots like she’d stung him. Did he think she was a snake? She chased him down, straddling him like a queen cobra. He smiled, mouth glittering like a dagger rising in the mist. He put a hand on her chest, right over her heart. His hips rose and fell; just a bit, but a bit that told her that his control was hanging on by the thinnest dregs.

“Getting mixed messages here, Hades,” she whispered, moving her hips over his erection. Sittin’ like this made the whole thing a much more blatant affair, and it was obvious he was as turned on as she was;  she was pretty sure she could use as a rudder on the strange little man’s boat.

“Not ready,” he said, and she wasn’t sure if he meant himself, or her, or both of them; she shifted to his side and he threw his head back, panting heavily. He reached a hand after a moment and offered his to her; she grabbed his big hand and studied it carefully.

It wasn’t much different from her own; different color, a bit — he was a paler thing, a rosy pink in the skin where hers was a golden-brown.  Short nails, like ma, but less dirt in 'em; thick knuckles, which was nice in a man. Big skull ring on his finger – that was the underworld’s mark, she knew, a sign of his kingship beyond his crown. She could feel his power flaring in it and gently tugged his heavy hand to her mouth in instinct; he offered no resistance, only sucking in a slight breath as she took his ring finger into her mouth.  He gasped with a wild and almost filthy moan when she sucked down on it; pleased by the feedback, she repeated the motion. She tasted copper. An appropriate taste for a metal gods powers, she supposed.

“Fuck,” he panted, whimpering; he _really_ liked this. She let her tongue dart playfully around it, forming as much suction as she could.  “Oh, _fuck_ …” he moaned, his voice so damn deep. “Fuck — woman, _fuck_.”

“Please?” she whispered. She dropped his hand, scrambled to unwind her wrap and then her dress. They had a _bit_ of time before ma would be back from the harvest. Plenty of time to punch in and punch out. _Vigorously_. “We can do it quickly.”

But his hand landed on hers, pulled one of her small palms and pressed a kiss on it. “No, little one. Not yet.”

“Ugh!” She wiggled away from him. “Why you keep stoppin' this?”

“Because I don’t want to yet. You’ve got to go back and I...” He raised his eyes to hers, visible confusion on his face. “I told ya.”  

“Then why you teasin’ a fertility goddess?” She gestured toward him, trying to find a way to articulate it. “I want…I want ya. You kissin’ me and moanin’ at me and —” She shrugged her shoulders. “You gonna drive my crazy and just…just hand me to ma when I’m still beggin’ for you?!”

 He didn’t offer any other explanation and to her credit, she waited a good minute and a half for him to voice something because her uncle was never fast in his words. But he offered nothing more than a hand, one that he waved toward her, the fingers curled to direct her and bring her back. She shook her head. Not good enough. He either wasn’t being truthful bout her bein pretty enough for him, or he was having issues with his cock, or he just was bein’ a tease, but she deserved some explanation, and his hand waving her back like a child wasn’t much of one.

She turned tail with an exaggerated sigh and went stomping off in …some direction. It was discombobulating, the underworld; there was earth pressed on every side, and very little light. Which was fine, and all, but it made telling which way you were going difficult, particularly in the field of roots. But she was pretty sure this was the way they’d been going before they wound up kissin’ again and mad enough she didn’t really care it wasn’t.

She made it at least five minutes before she felt him catch up, and another one and a half before he grabbed her arm. “Stop.”

“You been saying that,” she huffed. She didn’t get it. Pa had a million women he’d made a family within less time than Hades had spent with her. Wasn’t like ma and uncle Posey had spent much time kicking one another’s feet before she’d heard ma’s bed movin'. That was natural, and that was how things went: you felt attracted, you kissed, you fucked. She’d spent several days just kissin’ on Hades and it was nice and all but she’d felt the outline of his cock back there and she thought he was plenty capable of shoving it in her and _yet._

 _And yet._ Was something wrong with her? With him? Was it her age? Was it her looks? Was it his damn stubborn pride? Why was he rejectin’ her after makin’ her feel so good?

He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her close. “Please.”

“Yeah, I been saying that, too,” she snapped. She looked up at him and some of her anger dimmed; he had the decency to look right sorry.

“I…” He drew out the word and it hung there for a long time and she just stared at him. He cleared his throat. “It ain’t that I don’t want ya. I _want_.”

“Then _take._ ” She pulled his hand to her broach and he did not comment on how she trembled underneath, desperately wanting and _ready, ready, ready_. “Please.”

“Girl! I’m….I can’t,” he said,  his cheeks warm to the touch as he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Don’t want you to feel like this is a mistake.”

“That makes zero sense. Ain’t like getting ya in me is gonna make me regret these days we spent together.” Maybe pa was like that, but she didn’t think she was. She was interested in more than just his face, after all, no matter how handsome he was; she liked his deep voice, the way he yelled. Liked that he didn’t mind being sarcastic, that he was quick-minded; liked the way he was quick-tongued, too, sharp as a knife and twice and fast.  

“Can complicate things mighty fast.” He curled his arms around her and she felt her head settle at his shoulder. It felt right to be held there and she didn’t fight away, even if she was a little mad. “Just want you to make sure this is what you want. _Who_ you want.”

She groaned into his shoulder. He’d told her before startin' this trip she was an adult in his eyes, but still the kid gloves. Ridiculous. “Ain’t a child, uncle.”

“Don’t mean you’re ready to have mine.” She looked up and snorted, expecting him to make a joke, but those steely eyes were just starin' her down. She shifted, uncomfortable. His hand grabbed her chin, tilted her up into a soft and sweet kiss. She wrapped her hands around his hips and frowned, confused as all fuck.

“You really want me to be your first someday, I’m…not opposed.” He mumbled, placing his hands in hers and it was annoyingly cute. “Be right honored, even.” _Someday_ , she understood, meant _not today_.

“I think my first time, with you…that’s plenty special. However its gonna be. _Whenever_ its going to be.” She squeezed his shoulders and felt some tension slip away from her. It was a bit weird, sure, but…It was kind of romantic. None of the girls Apollo or Hermes had taken down to the ground has gotten this much consideration, she was sure. She wondered how many people Hades had been with; she’d never seen a soul around him the few times she’d seen him on Olympus but it wasn’t like the man wasn’t infamous for keepin’ to himself.  She frowned. Could she ask? Was it rude to ask? Unlike her brothers, she doubted he was the type to brag about the women or men he’d seduced. She should have asked Hermes how to ask. Hermes would have known how to find out, he’d never met a social situation he didn’t know how to press to his advantage.

“I want to take the time, make it right,” he whispered, lips right against her ear. “Don’t want to rush; want you to – to be ready.”

But she was so,  _so ready._

She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him; none of this chaste bullshit. She jerked her tongue down his throat and he let her do it, and that deference turned her on more than anything else; the great king, bent down in her thrall, desperately letting her kiss him.

“Don’t do good with slow,” she growled and he looked sad at that, his face falling for half a second. “I already like ya. I’m…I’m ready.”

“Not yet.” He smoothed his hand over her hair and kissed her cheek, sweet but inscrutable in the worst ways.

“Fine.” She tugged him down into a kiss that visibly startled him, his big body shivering under her hands. Hot, so hot; she felt drunk on it every time he shivered and moaned against her and he didn’t pull away. Confusing, but she'd take what she could get. Was obvious he was refusing to shovel down the mountain he'd dug up off of a molehill . “Let’s get moving.”

“Alright.” He kissed her one last time, then grabbed her hand, gently redirecting her back to the path to the surface. They kept a bigger distance apart; he was trying to cool down, she was certain, and she wasn’t sure that was possible for her. She felt disappointed; didn’t seem right, to go up to ma a virgin still after five days in a man’s company, but if his motives were true, they were at least sweet. She shivered as they got closer to the river; could hear it babbling now. She pulled the long wrap she’d made of his robes tighter, and he glanced over at her but said nothing.

She maintained the silence for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of her hand in his, memorizing his body in her memories. Pa above knew when they'd see one another again after he took her home. She tried not to dwell on that, focused on his looks at this present moment instead. He was so tall, she thought admiringly; the perfect amount of tall, enough for a little challenge but not so much that she found him uncomfortable to lean up and smooch. Bulky too, but not so bulky she couldn’t hold him. Just enough muscle to feel safe and secure…and look quite nice. She let herself fall a couple of steps behind and looked at his ass. Yep, that was good too. Not too much there, but enough to hold onto during… _well_. He stopped, looking at her owlishly for a moment. He opened his mouth, and then he sighed.

“What?” Was he gonna yell at her even lookin' now?

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll miss…” He cleared his throat. “I liked you being…here. Glad it – it wasn’t bad. For you. Here.”

“Well, I told ya.” She dropped his hand, took a chance, and cinched his waist with her palm instead. His hand slid around her shoulders and she looked up at him.  “And I’m willin’ to stay. Longer.”

It would mean some trouble from ma, but ma would forgive her if she came up with a good story for it, she was sure. He looked at her and she felt the hand at her shoulder tighten, just a bit. “Nothing would give me more pleasure,” he said. “But you gotta think a good long time before promising me somethin’ like that.”

She rolled her eyes. God, was he always so cautious? Sure the underworld was a bit weird and okay maybe even a bit dire – but so was he himself and she liked him well enough to think she could adjust. Didn’t need any moonlight; he was pale enough his face would do.

“…Should I tell your mother my intentions?” He said, so soft she barely heard his stone quiet whisper, even in a land so still and quiet as this. That was a bit more dedicated thing than just kissin’, and she didn’t need to ask if he was serious because he always was.

“I…” She bit her cheek. She’d like it if ma allowed this courting, but if she didn’t, ma would put her foot down and then she’d never see him again. And as wrong as it felt to go behind ma's back, she didn’t really want to risk it just yet. She smirked at him, hopin’ it covered her nerves. “Should I tell your ma what I intend to do to _you_?”

He threw his head back and laughed the biggest laugh she’d ever seen him make. “My _mitera_ would just think you mad. And vulgar. Very vulgar.”  

She leaned into him and was satisfied to feel his hand slip a little further down her shoulder in response. “Like you can read my mind,” she purred. He just smiled, but there was something not quite right with it; there was a frown at the edges of his smile, like he was tryin’ to be happy and mostly not quite managing it.

“Be our…little secret, for now, I think.” He glanced at her, and, _oh_. That. So he’d noticed she hadn’t replied.

“You keep thinking I’m gonna change my mind, but you think you ain’t gonna change yours?” She scoffed, annoyed. She wasn't the one being impossible here. “Fancy lookin’ king like you probably has a whole host of women. Lord knows pa and uncle Posey have themselves a harem each.”

He smiled sadly and shook his head. That…didn’t really clear that up at all, but she was too overwhelmed to quite press the topic. She didn’t like the idea of it, but it was the way of things for as long as she knew, and she couldn’t see the point in bein’ like Auntie Hera, shoutin’ and cryin’ every time her husband found some new woman to pollinate with. Just seemed natural to expect infidelity; even her ma had been with two married men, and her ma was the most loyal person Persephone knew. Course they weren’t datin’, not really, but the thought of uncle Hades kissin’ on another girl curdled her belly like the sourest of milk. She might have to live with it, but she didn’t have to like it. She skipped ahead a bit, pretending to look interested at the shoreline they were coming upon now. The Styx now, she was sure; she could see foam at the edges of it.

“Not — “ He cleared his throat and she felt his hand on her shoulder, but didn’t turn around. “Not prone to that. So you know.”

“Oh,” she said, fumbling with her fingers. Was _that_  about havin’ a harem or was _that_  about him not changin’ his mind? Could be either or both; he was stubborn as an old goat and wasn’t much for socializing so far as she could tell, but it wasn’t like she could tell much. “Oh,” she said again because she couldn’t think of what to say, and he looked like he was expectin’ somethin’.

“Doesn’t make me popular much.” She looked up at his face peerin’ down at her, one eyebrow half-raised. 

“Their loss,” she said, feeling unmoored and desperately seeking a joke to make things a little lighter. Then she leaned back and his hand shifted lower, sliding off her shoulder; a small whimper escaped her mouth as he reinitiated contact, his hand placed gently on her belly and pulling her closer still, close enough all she could hear was her heartbeat in her ears.

“Your gain?” he whispered in her ear, his voice sounding rough.

“Yes.” She didn’t get much of a chance to see his reaction; his mouth hungrily swooped in on hers and — _oh_. His mouth crushed hers, and then his tongue gently probed at her mouth and she opened hers in response and oh, how was she supposed to live for days, weeks, _months_ without this moment, without these kisses, without this man? He really think she was gonna go off kissin’ someone else after he had gone and all but sucked the marrow from her bones?

A bolt of a strong current swept through her, something as potent as pa’s bolts hiding there in the tightness of his hand on her belly. She squirmed, wanting him to move it lower, and for just a moment she felt his hand shift that way before he broke the kiss. They were both panting.

“What a minx you are,” he whispered, voice full of awe. “Do you know how hard it is to return you to your mother?”

“You ain’t gotta. I told ya. I’m ready. You can check yourself if you wanna.” She swallowed and shifted her legs as his eyes widened. His hand at her waist pulled her close and his lips went to her neck.

“Aphrodite has nothing on you, woman.” He kissed her one last time on the neck before separating. “You make this far too difficult.”

“Good!” She watched him smile, all knives. He looked poised to strike, and she didn’t mind it. If he was willin’ to reconsider waitin’, well, she would like that just fine.

“You’ll break a lot of hearts in your youth, I’ve no doubt.” He snapped his fingers as if that settled anything and she sighed as she saw what was really doing was calling the boatman to take them back. The boatman was coming far too quickly for her taste.

“Ain’t hoping to break any.” She muttered under her breath and he looked at her, sad smile as annoying as his decision she was gonna keep changing her mind. She wasn’t the type to go any way the wind blew. Just ‘cause pa liked to sow his seed widely didn’t mean she was the kind to do the same.

The boatman appeared with a smile on his face so strangely grim that Persephone was quite sure could strip the paint off of all the statues ma's temple priests made for her. He must be a titan; that gaze reminded her more of auntie Maia with her black, all-seeing eyes than anyone else. Hades didn’t reach for her hand to help her on, and got in the boat just a bit too early, leaving her on the shore with barely a backwards glance. She frowned. He was gonna try to pretend they _weren’t_? His “little secret” talk applied even in his own realm? She felt heat rise to her cheeks and wondered how much of his claimin’ how she wasn’t ready to tell ma was because he was embarrassed of his interest in such a young thing. Well, one way to find out.

“Your _friend_ decide to stay? We finally have a _vasilissa ton titánon?_ ” The boatman chuckled and she did what she did best: reasserted her dominance. She climbed onto the boat with all the slow speed her mother would, not breaking contact with those sharp black eyes.

And sat herself right in Hades' lap, making a show of kicking her sandals into the space where she was expected to be sitting. She heard the sharp gasp in Hades voice and ignored it, trusting him to hold her as she leaned back. “That answer your question?”

“I’d say so,” the boatman said, shaking his head. “But if you could just move more toward center gravity, lord Hades, if you want your _vasilissa_ riding er….sidesaddle? “

She felt Hades touch her knee slowly. She glanced back and found him looking at her with an odd expression, almost reverently. “Well, darlin'…you think I should move?”

“Yes,” she said, looking deep in his eyes and giggling. He scooted over, his eyes not leaving hers. His ears were burnt from the effort of it. She leaned over and kissed him right on the ear. He didn’t, she noted, squirm away.

“Your _friend_ , Lord Hades, seems to like you.”

Hades moved his arms over her hips, holding her tight enough that she could feel his individual fingertips even though the heavy cloth. “So she does.”

“Am I invisible? Is that why you're talking as if I am not here?” She said, in her highest tone. She pecked him on the lips, a quick swipe he couldn’t quibble about. “He likes me too, you know.”

“That ain’t news," The boatman said with a dismissive snort and she caught Hades glaring at him. It wasn’t very scary, blushin’ as he was.  She bit her cheek to stop herself from laughing as they hit the shoreline and she rose quickly. Hades glared at her for a moment as he stood, face still all aflame, and she wasn’t sure if the look was one of extreme desire, or anger.

“Have fun, boss.” The boatman laughed, a wild and braying sort of laugh she wasn’t sure she much liked. “Good luck getting her upstairs…intact, shall we say.”

“ENOUGH!” Hades thundered; oh, it was anger in him after all.  He looked mad, really mad; his eye had gone that same deep black as Charon’s and she felt the hair on her arms stand to attention because his powers were all tight up in his chest. She didn’t see why he was makin’ a fuss the way he was, but it was an alluring fuss and she wanted nothing so much as to make him shout in a far different sort of way. She shivered as he strode off the ship, all command in that heavy step. They could get away with it, surely? Wasn’t like ma would know for a good several months if she was a virgin or not, not until she swelled up with his baby. And if she was having his baby then ma couldn’t be too upset. All ma’s babies were bastards of kings so what did it matter if hers were, too?

“Hades…” she whispered and he gave her a gentler, if still angry, look. She heard the slap of oars and sensed the boatman was taking advantage of her distracting him. He looked after him a moment, then advanced toward her, stalking the ground between them and covering it in seconds.

“What was that?!” he hissed. “That little display?!” He stumbled forward and wrapped his arms around her. His hands went _low_ , squeezing her ass. She leaned upward to try to grab his head and bring him down but he was already leaning down, his mouth crushing hers underneath it. She wrapped herself tight against him and felt that heavy hardness poke her square in the belly. “Temptatious woman! Do you know what your teasing does to me? Do you know how hard it is for me to resist? Do you know what that little display _communicated?_ Do you know what he called you? Do you…do you know anything _at all_ , little one, of what you just did, because I am of the mind to give you a _very_ thorough education.”

She shoved him, not gentle but hard, pushing him down to the ground and scrambling quickly after. She threw herself into his lap and grabbed his chin. “Show me,” she snarled, half-panting, half-mad, a tigress in the jungle with prey within her leap. “Teach me.”

His mouth claimed her mouth and his hands claimed her ass, trapping her as close to him as possible. She wiggled on top of him and felt him hiss. “You….” He said, his voice even deeper and more hoarse. “Oh, woman…”

He crashed over her again, his hands wandering. Before, she realized, he’d held himself back, kept his hands mostly static. Now his hands were pulling at her hem, insistent, and she let him push her skirts clear up to her hips, felt his hands slide up her bare legs and barely glance against her linens, the thin fabric the only thing between his hands and her most intimate of spaces. “ _Fuck.”_

She wasn’t sure if she should say anything to that given how much he’d skirted away when she’d tried to untie his robes, so she just tilted her neck up on instinct and found his lips instantly there. “I wanted…” he whispered. “To give you a chance. Vixen, I wanted to give…” He whimpered as she rocked in his lap and felt his hips outright thrust against her. She bucked on instinct and felt him toss her wrap down and pull her dress from her shoulder, not gently but rough, the fabric nearly tearing as he moved it away from her neck. He wasted no time in kissing the exposed skin, then bit lightly on the spot where her shoulder met her neck, but it wasn’t painful, it was…She moaned. Oh, it was good, it was _good._ He chased the bite with his mouth, suckling the skin and sending heat straight through her core.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, all but mewling and ready, and he shivered and…did just that; he drew back, staring at her and sighing.

“Up.” The cold way he said it made her bristle; she frowned.

“But you said—I thought you were —“

“I know. Please. Up.” He was quiet, but he was serious. She bit her lip, suddenly unsure.

“Did I do anything wrong…?” She stood, smoothing down her dress and watched him do the same to his robes. He ran a hand through his dark hair and took a deep breath. 

“No.” Gentler, that. He turned on his heel and took off, however, at a brisk pace that screamed _you did something wrong._

“Hey, wait!” He looked back, but he didn’t stop; she grabbed her wrap, the black cotton streaming behind her as she ran to catch up. “Wait! What did I do that’s made you so mad?”

He stopped, tilted his head down toward her and held out his hands. “Nothing.”

“Then why you running like I’m auntie Hera and you're one of pa's girls?” He winced. “You can’t just go from kissin' a girl like that to running away without…without making her confused and pissed off! First you say—”

He raised a hand. “Stop.”

She did, threading her hands through his and glarin’ at him best she could. She didn’t understand this.  He was always running hot and cold today. What if when she saw him next he was just cold? She shuddered, trying to imagine going back to just little chitchats? No. No, he couldn’t! She wouldn’t live like that.

He said nothing, staring at her like she was the most infuriating thing in the universe.

“Please tell me. You say you wanna wait, then you lunge at me like you wanna _go_. Which is it?” She spit. “Tired of guessin’ at your moods and bein’ punished if what I guess wrong.”

“Isn't fair to you,” he mumbled, looking down at her. “What I want. You’re too young.”

“But old enough to kiss? Old enough to grope?” She dropped his hands. “You said I’m an adult…yet every time I want you to treat me like a woman, you turn away?”

“You are a woman. But a _young_ woman,” he snapped. “Too young to be anything but fickle-hearted.”

Oh, so  _that_ was it. Wasn't about him being a gentleman or her bein' young, it was about him not likin' the thought of her changin' her mind, whcih was hypocritical enough she wanted to shove his hands away. She dropped them, scrunching her mouth in fury.

“Fuck off,” she snarled, furious. “Only one fickle here is _you_.”

He huffed but said nothin’ else, strictly grabbing her hands again and all but frog-marchin’ her back up the path to the daylight. She stumbled on some of the steps in the lower light on the path up, and he said nothin’, not a sorry, not even an _are you okay_ , and she wondered if this was the end of it all already, and if she should grovel and apologize, but she wasn’t the least bit sorry for challenging him and neither was he by the look of things. She didn’t want it to end on this, on the stupidest of all arguments; she’d liked ninety percent of the time she’d spent with him.

But this ten percent was certainly a miserable thing. She glared at the side of his head in the dark, seeking answers, and found none.  

They spent nearly an hour in awkward silence climbing; faster than before, both seemingly trying to let out their pent up frustration somehow, because the only other outlet was to move together in a more natural sense and _someone_ had evidently decided that that were a step too far for no reason beyond his own fears. Bur maybe that was a bit understandable; maybe he really did just need time to let himself adjust. If he'd asked about courtin', he was clearly sweet on her, and wasn't ma always sayin' she needed patience? As the sun began to peak, visible through the cracks of the underground path, they both slowed, and Persephone paused, and after a moment, he did too.

“Ain’t — “ he said, and at the same time, she said, “I didn’t —“.

They both stopped, looking at one another. It wasn’t quite apologies that passed through them in those unvoiced sentences, but it was something, and he took a step forward, and she said, “A kiss for the road?” in a trembling voice and then he did, wrapping her in his arms and kissin’ on her, chaste but potent.

“Haven’t…” He cleared his throat, still close enough to kiss but tryin' so hard to talk she let him finish. “Haven’t ever been…I don’t…” He cupped her cheek, shook his head, almost shy, almost boyish; she could imagine him, so many years younger, close to her age, fumblin' like this, and the thought was amusing. “Ain’t used to…” He started over again, still not finding the words, but she knew what he was tryin’ to say, she thought– that he hadn’t — hadn’t opened himself this way in a long time, and she imagined it was hard for him, but surely it was harder for her, her who had no comparisons, no experience? 

“I don’t…either. You’re my first…” she whispered and he kissed her again.

“Yes.” His nose rubbed against hers, his hands on her shoulders. “Yes. I know. Liked that.”

“Me too.” She clung tight to him, trying to figure out how to say goodbye, but couldn’t find the words; how did you say goodbye to someone as confusing a maelstrom as he was? She said: “Walk me all the way up? Maybe say hi to ma?” There was little doubt she’d be lookin’ for her now; between the arguin’ and the heavy pettin’, they’d burned their lead time bad.

“Don’t think that’s a good idea, just yet.” He smoothed down her hair, and she knew it must look a right mess. 

She nodded; she expected as much, and she tried not to show her disappointment as she said, “Well, alright then.”

“I’ll wait for you,” she added, feeling heat blaze across her cheeks. “On the meadows, I mean. When mama’s not — “

“I’ll come,” he said, and squeezed her shoulder. “Until then.”

“Until then,” she said; it was better than saying goodbye.

He turned first, walkin’ down the road back to his kingdom, and she watched him go; ramrod straight posture, shoulders clenched like he was holdin’ the world on his back. Proud man, she thought; impossible man. She waited til he wasn’t visible at all before bounding up the last few steps into daylight. She’d barely gotten a step before she heard “Persephone!” and then there was ma, a look of concern on her face.

“Daughter! Where have you been?” Demeter tilted her head, looking at Persephone’s form; she hadn’t seen herself before she left but she couldn’t imagine she looked the same as she had a few days before. “Where did this…?” She touched the wrap, looked at her more strangely.  “What…?”

“I’m sorry ma!” She bent down, hopin’ to look the good daughter while not giving away her deception. “I uh, was helpin’ uncle Hades in the underworld — “

“Uncle Hades?!” Demeter sucked in a harsh breath. “How’d you — “

“He was checking borders — here, and a few other places. We got to talking, Uhm, about how to shift the earth to prevent humans from falling in. It’s a problem, I guess.” She wrinkled her nose, trying to think fast. “And since I could grow flowers, he thought I could provide some cover, and keep the humans out until...until their time.”

Demeter snorted. “Sounds like my brother. Anything to avoid socializing. Always was one to be off on his own, you know.”

Her eyes softened, gently patting the wrap on her shoulder. "My brother must have liked the work you did, to pay you so richly for your toil. Or to even ask."

Demeter grinned, pride radiating from her like she was as hot as the sun. "Seems like only yesterday you were toddlin behind me, paintin' daisies. Now you've got elder gods takin' you seriously, and to impress that sourpuss..." She grabbed her daughter's hand, patted it. "How you've grown."

“You don’t talk about him much,” she said, desperate for information but knowing she couldn’t outright ask without explaining much. “Everyone seems to avoid him, but he seemed alright to me.”

“He’s a bit of a stiff but that’s the worst I can say for him.” Demeter snorted, grabbed her hand. “Least he’s the only one of my brothers I don’t have to worry about seducin’ you away from auntie Hes. Now, come: I’ve brought some food, and I’ve no doubt you’re hungry after dealing with that slave-driver all day. Let’s put that dour uncle of yours aside, and talk about happier things. Did you make it to Hes? Tell me all about your week.”

Demeter grabbed her hand and started to tug her home and Persephone allowed herself to be led; being pliant now meant being able to get away with more later. Still, she risked a look back at the opening to the underworld as the entrance sunk back into the earth, away from the gaze of mortals; she couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere, deep down under the ground, he was lookin’ back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies; this chapter is super late! It's end of the semester for me and works been heavy so if updates are slightly more elliptical than normal, that's why. I am making an effort to catch up on my inbox; thanks for reviews, as always: Even if I am slow to return them, it really is a great highlight of my day to read them and I love reading your thoughts and questions and I will answer asap. 
> 
> Notes:
> 
> vasilissa ton titánon - Queen of the titans as best I can translate in my admittedly poor greek. 
> 
> Charon - Hades' oarsman here, and, later, train conductor.
> 
> Maia - Hermes' mom.


	16. The Road Is Paved [42. Sated kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Uncle, uncle.” Hermes shook his head. “Not that complicated; it’s a yes or a no.”_
> 
> _“There’s no question here,” he murmured, rubbing the ink on the letter from his wife._
> 
> _“C’mon, don’t disappoint my favorite auntie.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which some of the tracks that put us on this road are laid.
> 
> Takes place roughly 100 years before Hadestown. As always, can be read on its own. 
> 
> Rating: E, this is pretty much 70% smut
> 
> Warnings: sexual content/situations, including oral sex and some very light anal play; minor mentions of period-typical (circa 1820s~1830s) racism and sexism by a minor character; minor references to alcohol

Hades held a letter between his fingers, reading the two lines on it over and over again in the flowery, foreign language.

_Viens ici. 45°32'03.1"N 4°38'24.6"E_

_-P_

“Any reply?” Hermes asked, and Hades didn’t answer; he looked up at the boy, balefully, then down at the coordinates. Hermes sighed and leaned back in his office guest chair, the chair squeaking under his weight. Hades narrowed his eyes; he hadn’t added the chair for the messenger, but Hermes had opted to make it all his own whenever he brought a letter down, even if Hades wasn’t much one for chatting.

“Uncle, uncle.” He shook his head. “Not that complicated; it’s a _yes_ or a _no_.”

“There’s no question,” he murmured, rubbing the coordinates. North of the usual spot, old Gaul territory; it would take him a few hours longer to carve out a path there; there weren’t many tunnels he’d built that far north, content to let the northern ghosts drift downwards.

“So you’re coming?” Hermes asked, smiling like a cat with cream all over its whiskers. “C’mon, don’t disappoint my favorite auntie.”

“She’s your sister,” he murmured, flipping over the letter again. There was nothing but her scribbling in — Latin? Some modern form, the name of it was escaping him at the moment. He thought it was some form of that, and her coordinates. No _hello_. No _How are you_. Not even his name, or hers, or any proof that this came from her — except that it was so short, so limited in its information, that he could imagine it coming from no other hand.

“That too,” Hermes said, still smiling.

Hades flipped over the creamy paper a couple more times; if Hermes hadn’t insisted on sitting across from him, he’d have held it to his nose, breathed in the scent of something that had touched his wife’s hands in desperate, greedy huffs, and savored it. Six months was a long time, and at five months and twenty-nine days, he was reaching the bottom of his endurance without her. However, since Hermes was here, he put the letter down and nodded, once. Yes, he would go. For her, he would go to the ends of the earth; her wanting a slightly different meeting point wasn’t a particularly difficult accommodation.

“Go,” he said, and Hermes chuckled and stood. He liked that much about his nephew: he didn’t bother to overstay his welcome. Much.

“You’ve made her day, you know,” he said, and Hades nodded as if that was obvious, and then leaned back in his own chair, ignoring the squeak of protest from the chair itself. He waited a moment until Hermes was gone, then he took the envelope and breathed deeply: herbaceous grasses, a hint of lighting clinging to the edges. It was her, it was. Too late, he realized Hermes’ wording was odd, but the messenger was already gone — Made her day, hm? He wondered why.

It wasn’t the location, he knew that much. Persephone wasn’t a creature of habit, per se, so much as one carefully balancing two conflicted loyalties and eternally navigating the boundaries of when they could touch. As such, he generally picked her up at the border between her summer home and her winter one, the same place where they always seemed to be trapped in this dance of separation and reunion; outside her mother’s house, on that awfully sunny meadow where he’d first met her, where they had first made love, where he had taken her to be his wife and where he had taken her into his home — and where he had returned her to her mother, too, after that first year. There had been a few bad years where plans had changed, of course. When the harvest came late, he’d gone to her in other locations. But that wouldn’t be an issue this year. He knew from his own observations that the harvest had been good; the morning papers, when he got one on the odd run up-top for business, had boasted of Demeter and Persephone’s glory this year. Worldwide bounty.

It was not like Persephone to want a change of pace in this matter. She’d fought like hell with that mother of hers to allow him to pick her up within view of Demeter’s little hut and had paraded him with pride in front of her mother and anyone else who dared to gawk — why change now? Had Demeter revoked her permission, demanding her daughter be picked up farther from home? Or had it been Persephone who wished to see him in a different place, and if so, why? Was she getting bored of _them_? Twenty thousand years was a very long time to be married. Longer still without children, with only seeing one another half a year…He looked up, anxious. Maybe it was bad news. He’d always been terrified about the idea that she’d finally grow tired of him, and the thought came more-so in the summer, when his bed went empty for so long he was keenly aware of just how miserable he would be for the rest of his days without her.

He tried to look up toward her, way up above him; she was sitting on a bed, chatting with her mother, who was holdin’ her hand and giving her daughter a look that Hades recognized was nothing but _concerned_. He didn’t recognize the bed; didn’t recognize anything about where she was, and that made him uneasy, too. He waved the vision away; irritated. He wondered: why? Why change now? Was she ashamed of him suddenly, didn’t want her ancient village or even more ancient mother to see him anymore? Was it that it would take him longer to meet her there, and longer to take her home, therefore limiting her time in the underworld slightly? He couldn’t fathom it. It hadn’t been a bad year, last year, though they’d had enough of those years. Quiet year. He’d spent most of it working on his own projects – she’d stopped taking much of an interest in the realm, and that disappointed him, but it was a bit inevitable, he supposed. When he wasn’t working, he’d played games with her; she’d brought a domino set and he quite enjoyed watching her work at tactics. She was very, very good at turning sudden moves into long-term strategies. Maybe she’d been emboldened by that, wanted to plan more surprises for him, and surely the best time to spring one on him was when he opted to take from her sunshine home into her eternal one.

His hand tightened. He didn’t do well with surprises. She knew that much, too.

And yet: _Viens ici. 45°32'03.1"N 4°38'24.6"E_

He shook his head; there would be little more to be done until he saw her, and he saw no reason to delay starting out. It would take a while to cut a new path, and since she hadn’t bothered to send the note until the day before fall would descend upon them anyway, it was best to start early. He washed up and grabbed his coat, the leather comforting, and thumbed an old pair of gloves and a hat.

And then he began the long walk up, keeping the co-ordinates listed a refrain that he hummed to an old tune as he walked through the world, tossing dirt out of his path with abandon. The summer was over.

It would be autumn by this time tomorrow.

And he would feel better, as he always did, when she was by his side.

* * *

Several hours later, he blinked into sunlight, coming into the strange and new area in Gaul, or whatever it was calling itself this day. He tried to remember; squinted. France, that was it, France. He was in a French forest, the leaves already beginning to turn the second he entered.

And he wasn’t alone.

“Well,” a familiar voice drawled; he hadn’t quite adjusted to the sunshine but he recognized his wife’s voice, and the too-bright form of a pale green dress he didn’t remember seeing before. In the sunlight, it blurred as his eyes did, but he heard the warmth in her voice and that alone flowed through him like honey. “Ain’t you a sight.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he mumbled. “Can’t see much yet.” He shut his eyes for a moment and by the time he opened them, she was in front of him. He heard her unfurl an umbrella and he relaxed, the shade a welcome balm.

“Better?” She asked; her hand cupped his cheek, and the look on her face: half an _ain’t-I-clever_ smile, half sparkling amusement. And all he saw in those eyes was love, love, love, and he drunk it down with a parched man’s thirst.

“Much.” He leaned down and kissed her, relaxing slightly as her free arm went up over his head, pulling him down and giving him a kiss that was not even remotely tame. Her tongue forced itself into his mouth within seconds and he moaned into her, her body pressing against his. “Much,” he repeated dumbly, as they came up for air.

She grabbed his collar and smirked up at him, and he looked down into a well-displayed pair of breasts in this diaphanous green silk gown, with a look that wasn’t anything but blatant. Six months was a _long_ time; he wondered briefly if she’d allow him to at least suckle her before taking them all the way back, he was already feeling like a dog in heat and a touch of her cool skin — he swallowed.  She’d always had such wonderful breasts, and he _loved_ the little noises she made when he put his mouth on her; an enduring and strangely besotting mixture of moans, curses, and adorations.

“Let’s go home,” he said. “Let’s go.” He was already flushing, body humming with venomous intent; he’d be lucky to get her into the tunnel before that dress came off.

“Oh my,” she wiggled against his breeches, which were plenty constraining as they were without her teasing him with her honeyed thighs. “Someone is eager.”

“Too long without you,” he said, tipping the hand on her waist just slightly lower. He leaned in for another kiss and got it, and she didn’t protest as the hand went lower still, cupping her ass and forcing her against — well, against his proof that he’d been missing her.

“Too long, alright,” she said, feather-light touches on his collar doing nothing but making him wish her hands were on his breeches instead. “But settle down. Ain’t leavin’ yet.”

“ _Why_?” It came out stronger than it should have — with more desperation than he quite wanted to reveal. Maybe – maybe she wanted a change of venue in a different way. “Want to…here?” He touched her cheek; he hadn’t forgotten her penchant for the natural and he doubted she had, either. Her cheeks flushed and she turned away.

“Not yet,” she said, being more mysterious than he wanted his lady to be by half. “I want to show you something,” she said, and turned, holding out her hand. “C’mon.”

His eyes narrowed as he grabbed her hand, doing his best to stay under her umbrella. He tried to hide his irritation but had the feeling he was not covering it quite so well when she looked up at his face and giggled.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll like this surprise.”

“I have never in my _life_ liked a surprise,” he drawled, and she rolled her eyes, as she often did when he was impossible, and he knew he was impossible, and he knew too he should be quite thankful she was willing to put up with it, and yet his bad mood amplified as they stomped across a too-bright forest, holding the woman he loved not-close-enough, and then entered a valley filled with too-many-people, which promptly made his headache massively increase.

“Humans, wonderful,” escaped his mouth before she very lightly tapped his ass in a silent rebuke. It did nothing to stop his thoughts from flowing in a very precise direction, a direction that did not include dozens of humans watching.

“C’mon, _you’ll_ see,” she said, and there was an edge to her voice now, he heard it; steely annoyance, but trying as hard as he was not to show it. She grabbed and dragged him down the line, and he boggled at the little people wandering about them — most of them sitting on little sheets, with baskets of food; _picnics_. His dark mood increased further when he saw where Persephone was leading him: at the very edge of the meadow near some strange steel lines and wood, there was his scowling sister, arms folded, and possibly the only person more pissed to be here than he was. Whatever thoughts of romance he had instantly vanished and he winced.

“See you went and found him,” Demeter drawled, standing and dusting off her dress — more homespun than her daughters, cotton and plain. “More’s the pity for that but I suppose no accounting for tastes.”

“Mother.” Persephone’s voice was sharp, sharp in the way it only went when one of their incoming souls – back when she’d had an interest in that, at least – was Tartarus-bound.

Demeter sighed and held her hand out, as if she could physically stop him from being present by waving him away like a particularly annoying insect. “I know, I know. I’ll be goin’ now. Don’t worry, Hades — wouldn’t want to make you sit through the _horror_ of pretending you’re part of the family for once. Said my piece.”

“ _Ma_.”

“Well, Demeter, when you only have six months together, certain _unimportant_ relationships just tend to fall to the wayside.” He grinned wolfishly, then immediately regretted it when Seph glared at him, furious.

“Don’t _you_ start,” she snapped, then directed her fury to Demeter. “And Ma. We _talked_ about this. You _promised_.”

Demeter took one long breath, then two, then forced a smile that was obvious to them all she did not feel. Hades didn’t return it.

“Sorry, _Hades_. You understand.” She didn’t bother to so much as glance up for his reaction, Demeter just took two steps forward and threw her arms around his wife. “You be good. I’ll be seein’ you in six months. You wanna come home early —“

“She won’t,” he said, and both his sister and his wife shot him the same distinctly female look of stern disapproval; he stared back. His sister was the type to demand an inch, then take a mile, same as the rest of his siblings. He wasn’t going to let her.

“Anyway,” Demeter continued, “if for some reason you want me, _either_ of you…” Hades very much bit back a response to _that_ , but figured discretion was the better part of valor.  Demeter shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “Well, me and your brother and your baby sister will be stayin’ with your other uncle for a bit.” He looked away at that; wasn’t his business, but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Amphitrite, eternally a second-wife despite her position, thanks to Demeter bein’ so blatant in her intentions even Hades could tell what she and Poseidon spend the whole visit doing. Wasn't like it wasn't obvious that  Persephone's brother and sister were his Poseidon's whelps, and he wasn't entirely sure they weren't conceived in Amphitrite’s own marriage-bed.  The poor nymph; there would never be much she could do in terms of physically overcoming a goddess – he could only imagine what horrors she’d been forced into doing to keep her position as Poseidon’s _wife_. 

“Do say hi to Amphi for me,” he snapped, and Demeter turned toward him, a new fire lit in her eyes. Persephone glanced back toward him, then whipped her head back to her mother, her lips pursing.

“Okay, Ma,” Persephone said, clapping her mother on the shoulder and cutting off her reply with queenly grace. “Thanks for holdin’ seats. Sure you won’t stay and eat…?”

Hades kept his gaze elsewhere. He certainly did not want to break bread with _Demeter_.  Thankfully, the disgusted look he could see on Demeter’s face from the corner of his eye suggested the enmity was entirely mutual.

“I’ll be _goin’_ ,” Demeter said as she squeezed her daughter’s shoulder in a final goodbye, glaring at him; he didn’t bother to reply, but his eyes remained focused on Demeter’s departure until he was sure the old biddy wouldn’t turn around. Once he was sure they were free of his overbearing sister, he took two steps forward and grabbed his wife, curling his arms around her. His wife leaned back into it, and he rejoiced at that.

“Look what I hold,” he whispered. “Whole world in my hands.”

“Mm. Don’t think bein’ sweet is gonna blind me to you poking fun at Ma. Wasn’t necessary, that.” She closed her eyes and leaned back despite the rebuke, her neck out and eagerly awaiting a kiss: he answered the challenge, once and then again, in lieu of answering. He debated pawing under the silk, but the woman in his arms wiggled away when his hand got close to her breasts. “Not yet,” she huffed, barely audible. “Not yet. Got something to show you.”

“Alright,” he said; the word went out crisp and blunt, the two syllables suggesting just how much of a favor he was giving her by allowing her time up here. He didn’t see a point to this. She smiled and settled down; he noticed she, too, had packed a little bag, a bit of bread peeking out over the top. He held back a groan, knowing it would be a bit too much complaining after he’d sunk a barb into her mother’s chin. Food meant she had every indication of staying for at least an _hour_.

“Hold yer stallion,” she grumbled, a smile on her lips.

“Rather _you_ hold it,” he whispered, and she snorted, lips clearly trying to hold in her golden laughter. She made a good effort at it, but a soft noise escaped her and she lost it, promptly giggling as she moved her umbrella into her lap and rustled through the bag next to her. She handed him something from it in a big bottle — he squinted. Lemonade, he thought; bitter cut with sweet. He took it to his lips and sipped it, careful; there was something harder in it than water, and when he looked startled at her, she winked.

“Day’s young, lover,” she grabbed it back, hands caressing his ring finger for just a split second as she did, then she took a long sip. He settled down, leaning against her, putting his hand a bit lower on her back than was appropriate.  Some old biddy cleared her throat from the next blanket over — he ignored it and gave that beautiful little ass a nice squeeze. She leaned the bottle toward him and he suckled the sweet-bitter concoction, feeling warmth gently flush his cheeks.

“So what is it we’re spending time up here for?” He squinted into the distance but didn’t see anything but overwhelming brightness; grass, people, nothing special. The metal and wood structure she’d put them within twenty feet of seemed odd, but when he reached out with his deeper senses he felt nothing special to it; no god’s touch inherent in it.

“It’s a demonstration,” she purred. “A new mortal invention. Makes a racket, but you’ll like it.”

He rolled his eyes as she made herself comfortable; she went back into the basket, dropping the lemonade in and pulling out a small jar in her hands. She unscrewed it and popped something into his mouth; he didn’t bother to look before biting down, enjoying the brief touch of her fingers against his mouth. Olive; he thought, tasting the salty-sweetness of it. Picked at just its peak.

“Your sister’s orchard?” The olives were perfectly salty but with an ambrosial tang that could only come from a goddess’ hand.

“Of course,” she said. She leaned in for a kiss and he gladly gave it to her, the oil from the jar lingering on his lips and rendering hers slippery in a delightful way.  The coughing behind them intensified; he ignored it. “Nothin’ but the best for _my man_ ,” she said.

“Hm,” he said, and leaned closer. She kissed him again, then again; he put his hand over her umbrella on her lap and moved it to the side, then maneuvered himself in its place, laying his head in her lap proper. The busybody behind them went to full-blown clucking fit; he ignored it, too happy to concentrate on the lithe brown fingers working their way through his hair instead.  He looked up at her, studying her face, and she shook her head.

“Don’t look at me,” she murmured; “you’ll miss it.”

“Miss what?” He grumbled, lookin’ up at her. “Already got the best view.” There was a noise in the distance, like a large kettle, but he ignored it; there was a commotion behind him, humans pitching forward in excitement, and he ignored that, too. She rolled her eyes.

“Look _up_ ,” she whispered, and he leaned forward, indulging her insistence. The ground rumbled; for a moment, he thought of Demeter, of her warning she was going with their brother, and he braced himself, suddenly worried — had she decided to get Poseidon involved, have her brother try to seize the Underworld after he’d tried and failed to overtake Zeus all those years ago?

“Look,” his wife whispered, more insistent, grinning; he couldn’t fathom the idea his wife was involved in anything Poseidon planned — and then she gripped his shoulders, forcibly moving him forward toward her focus, and then he saw _it_.

“Oh,” he said, plainly. “ _Oh_.”

It — whatever it was, he hadn’t quite figured that out, but it was a magnificent contraption and every bit as loud as she’d said it would be. It looked like a wagon train, and that was nothing new, but rather than a set of horses pulling at the bit, there was a marvelous metal creature, all by its lonesome yet far stronger than even his treasured four horses were. The strange engine moved forward, iron clanging and screaming and smoke billowing from it — he narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of the iron and rivets as it charged by, fast — as fast as his chariot! – No, _faster_. And it was carrying not delicate wagons with wood wheels but rather metal boxes, heavy metal boxes on strong metal wheels that wouldn’t break as often as the wooden ones did. It went by within seconds, and he stared, riveted, as it passed.  That — whatever it was — had potential. _That_ could work underground, much as he could see; seemed to run on some kind of — he tried to see it in his minds eye, work out what it ran on – Steam perhaps, or wood, maybe coal, he hadn’t enough time to glance deep enough to figure it out, but there had been smoke. He had more than enough metal. Could be he could run souls down on it. Could be he could — could run his wife down faster, with one of those, have six more hours of her in his bed, in his eyes.  A meager amount of time and yet — so much more than he had now. His hand tightened on hers.

“What is _that_?” He asked, not bothering to hide his interest; she laughed, the sound delightful.

“It’s a prototype,” she purred. “Might be a lady thought her man might like to see a demonstration. First of its kind down on this continent. Loco-motive, they call it.”

“It’s fast,” he murmured. Her hands tightened around his middle and kissed his ear and he liked that, quite liked that. She was never afraid to touch him, _never_ , and there were times in a man’s life he liked to be spoiled for attention. “Might be a man is intrigued.”

“Mmm.” She leaned down as if to kiss him again, but didn’t. “Might be his woman knew he would be,” she whispered in his ear. She reached into the basket and handed him two scraps of paper; tickets, of a sort. “Might be his woman thought to arrange a demonstration for her husband, who might be a very rich and influential sort, if she were the type to drop one of his names or two.” He raised an eyebrow as she twirled her hair in a decadent flirtation. “Might be if he is _very good_ and willin’ to stay a whole day, he could even ride the next train himself with his little lady in tow.”

He wasn’t thrilled by that idea, the idea of staying a whole day up top, but the idea of seeing that engine up close — that was worth it. Talking to the inventor and getting himself a copy of the plans – more than worth the sacrifice. Besides, she’d clearly gone out of her way to plan this, and making his wife happy would only make their lovemaking sweeter.  

“Ain’t overnight?” He asked; he never liked to be in the world above longer than he had to be, and the night made him uncomfortable, reminded him of skirmishes in the dark, golden blood on spears — he swallowed. Such was in the past. Long past. Didn’t matter anymore.  

She rolled her eyes, visibly annoyed. “We’ll go way down soon as the train ride is over. Know you ain’t a fan of stars.”

He smiled and brushed his hands through her hair; with the locomotive spectacle gone, he could hear more than a few of the humans packing up — including the busybody, whose sighing and clucking was thankfully gone.

“Any more questions? Or are you prepared to admit, strictly speakin’, that your wife has found a surprise even the almighty Hades might be a _bit_ impressed by?” She grinned, and he knew that she was pleased, and savored it. She pulled out a loaf of bread, a bit of olive oil infused with nectar — his mouth watered. He was, grudgingly, hungry.

“One.” She raised her eyebrows and gestured toward him with the bread, as if to say _let’s hear it._ He ignored the invitation, straightened his back up even as it cracked a bit, and didn’t stop maneuvering himself until his lips were at her ear. “She gonna sit on my lap during that ride?” he murmured, voice low as he could make it, which was quite low indeed.

Persephone, beautiful and wicked in equal measure, grinned from ear to ear. “Oh I’ll do better than that,” she purred; she slowly broke their bread, and handed him half, and he ate it without asking what she meant by that, trusting that if she had any further surprises today, they were good ones, since she seemed to have his pleasure in mind. Wasn’t like anything about that invention would impress her much; his girl had never been much for machinery, beyond the occasional indulgence of his whims. Hadn’t even liked the cotton gin.

It took them almost an hour to eat the bread — the crust was hard, and Seph was stingy with the nectar-oil, though why he couldn’t fathom. She kept her hands at nothing more than teasing gestures; a hand at his mouth, his collar, once – once! – touching him at his belt. That was unusually stingy too and the bread was doing nothing to temper his appetite. After devouring the end of his baguette, he glanced around the field. They were quite alone now. He growled and decided to take things into his own hands. He fell on her, pinning her and all her fancy silks underneath him.

“Think its time for dessert,” he growled, nipping at her neck with a viper’s kiss: quick, aching, poisonous with desire. His fingers went to her hair, pulling down the elaborate up-do and letting her fiery hair splay out over the white blanket she’d taken from her mother’s home. She giggled as he pressed his whiskers to her chin and her hands went around his head when he dared to get a little roguish, sliding a trail of kisses down her shoulder. He cast the silky sleeve of her silk aside, with his finger, replacing the cloth with his mouth, continuing his trail of hot kisses into a bold new horizon.

“Not yet,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. “Not yet.”

“We are alone,” he pointed out, kissing lower, gently brushing a kiss along her sternum. The teasing goddess just giggled, the movement causing a ripple across her beast that made him long to bury his head between them. He put one hand on the garment at her chest, eyebrow arched and questioning.

“Shh,” she put her finger on his lips and moaned when he put it into his mouth and suckled it. A soft moan escaped her; emboldened, he pulled her top down to reveal her breasts – she hadn't worn anything underneath, beautiful – and glided his hand down to her waist, eager to hike her skirts. He’d barely gotten one nipple free before she stopped him, her hand pushing up on her shoulders.

He did not bother to hide his disdain as he looked up at her.

“Not yet, Hades,” she huffed, cheeks intensely pink; he shook his head, puffed out a breath.

“No?” he whispered, a quiver in his voice he would not reveal to anyone but her. Hades, King of the Dead, did not beg. No matter how desperate he was.

“Not. Yet.”  This time there was more of an edge to her voice, and he felt doubt stream into him: that _not yet_ was the public form of _not ever again_ , that this was an elaborate front because she didn’t want to go home with him, and was wasting time up here to enjoy the last glimpse of sunshine she’d see for six months — but those thoughts died as she flipped them over and leaned over him, her lips so close to his own her breath burned onto his mouth like a scar.

“Trust me,” she purred. “It’ll be worth the wait, lover.” She sealed that pronouncement with a kiss that left him literally squirming into her, dry thrusting against her like he was a damn teenager. Only she’d ever had that effect on him. “Trust me,” she said, and gently dismounted; he sighed and obeyed.

She stood and brushed off her silky gown, and his attention remained on every fold and crease as she artfully rearranged herself; she left the hair down and he wasn’t entirely sure that was a mercy. “Carry my bag?” She muttered, fluttering her eyelashes so sweetly.

“Could buy you another bag,” he grumped, but she sucked her teeth in response and shook her head.

“Rather you buy me somethin’ slinky we’d both enjoy,” she purred, “than some old bag. ‘sides, I promised Ma I’d bring the blanket back.”

He rolled his eyes, mentally damning Demeter for blocking his attempts at seducing his wife from deep below his brother’s tidal waves. Regardless, he picked up the blanket, even folded it nicely, and tucked it in her straw bag before picking it up. She grinned.

“Thank you, baby,” she purred, and her hand slunk distractingly low as she guided him forward. “Let’s get walkin’ to the other end of the line.”

“How far is it?”

“Lyon.” Mentally, he tried to figure the distance; she did the calculation for him, and he groaned.

“This better be worth it.”

Her eyes glittered with an interest that almost frightened him. “It will be,” she said, and the wide distance between where she’d met him and their destination passed quickly, his mind focused entirely on what she might have in mind.

* * *

“Mr. Seguin, it is an honor,” his wife rattled off in perfect French; she was more comfortable in the world above, and he let her do the introductions. “ _C'est mon mari_ , Plouton.” She tapped his arm and held it; he smiled. “He is a man of great scientific interest, as well, and he was _riveted_ when we saw your engine pass by.”

“A true marvel,” Hades said, then more plainly: “How does it work?”

“Ah, _Monsieur_ ,” Seguin played damnably coy. “I cannot reveal my secrets! It is as you say – a prototype. An improvement of Mr. Stevenson’s _Locomotion_. Nothing more.”

“Substantial improvement,” he murmured, though he hadn’t a clue of Mr. Stevenson’s design. No need for a flawed original when he could work through an improved version.

“Tenacious man, my man,” Persephone said, fluttering her lashes. She touched his arm in a tight embrace that made him hungry for things far beyond monetary deals; Seguin stared at them both for a moment as his wife excused herself to chat amongst the women.

“Your wife seems…fond,” Seguin said, handing him a drink — Hades took it, as it was polite to, and lightly sipped at the wine. “Of learning.”

“She is,” he gestured toward her as she grinned, embracing a young lady as if it were just a day at court. She pressed air-kisses to both cheeks that left him only wanting her to be kissing his own instead. “Very smart woman. More interested in _biologie_ than _ingénierie_ _,_ though.”

“Odd, isn’t it?” His lips pursed into a frown Hades thought was disapproval, and he felt his fingers clench the glass more tightly. “So very well educated, for a woman. Especially odd, given her…” He gestured toward her, then back at him. “…coarseness.”

“She was born in a palace,” he murmured, his voice low as he tried to keep himself from crushing the mortal’s head like a particularly musty grape. “She is more royal blooded than anyone in this room.” Excepting himself, but then, at least Persephone had been _somewhat_ wanted by her family.

“Ah.” He glanced up at Hades, mouth open as he realized his gaffe. “Ah, forgive me, I have offended. It is simply a woman of her looks and her education is…rare. I met her getting food for the workers when we were coming through the lines, her and her — _mère_? She could converse with every man on the line. Regardless of origin, and our crew — it is a motley one, you’d find. She fed them all with a smile in their own language. Never seen anything like it.”

He took a sip of his drink and said nothing for a long moment. “She is a rare one, yes.”

“Yes. I have to admit, _Monsieur_ Plouton, when she mentioned being married, I expected it to be to a scientist, perhaps, but — you are not what I expected.”  How he had subverted expectations the man did not say for a long moment; he watched out of half-lidded eyes as Persephone waved off a potential suitor, nibbling on a bit of cheese as she chatted with some other investor. “I thought from her insistence you’d want a ride on our way back to St. Etienne that you would be a younger man, consumed with a true fire for the sciences but you — you are an older fellow, and I suspect your interest is more in _la_ _pratique_ than _la théorie_.”

“You see me true,” he said. “I’m interested in your machines for what they can do for me — not only because they are a modern miracle.” Persephone looked toward him, one eyebrow raised; he nodded. They were getting to the heart of the matter, not long now.

“And what is it that they can do for you?” So, there was a price; unspoken, but it was there. “I do not wish to foster my own…competition, you understand.”

“You would never see the machines I wish to build,” he promised. And he wouldn’t; even if he were to expand the line all the way to Demeter’s doorstep, there were ways of concealing it from prying mortal eyes. Seguin wouldn’t see a scrap of his potential network, not until he drifted downstairs himself in — Hades peered at the man carefully— ah, fifty years. “I am a man who has made his investments down, under the mountains, shall we say.  It’s a dark, slow practice, and I have reason to think your machines could make the burden of hauling things a good deal lighter.”  Persephone re-appeared at his side and his hands went around her; Seguin did not seem to notice her arrival.

“But the ventilation—“Was not an issue. The humans were dead already and the air being a bit _stagnant_ wasn’t gonna affect him or Persephone too much.  He’d carve out ventilation shafts over time; time was the luxury that they always had.

“Is something to be tinkered with, true, but as my darling wife has said — ”he brushed a hand toward her. “I am a man of science, and confident I could refine any blueprints to make such a safe and applicable venture.”

“Blueprints?” Seguin frowned, visibly thrown off. “You do not want…a machine yourself? They are complex engines. Difficult to make the parts for, and there is no wide-sale fabrication of such occurring. You would have a hard time retaining a metalsmith capable of producing such works, even if you could find the raw materials necessary.” They were difficult to acquire for mortals, no doubt; for a metalsmith with divine powers, the concept of such was laughable. 

“Just blueprints,” he snapped. “In my line of work, I’ve more than a few forges employed. I’m familiar with metals, and their costs, and their fabrication. I require only the prints.” And truthfully, not even that, but it would be quicker to work from it than to have to spend a winter or two scheming up how it all fit together.

“He’s a perfectionist you’ll find,” Persephone piped up at the corner; she nimbly took his wine glass from his hand and apologized for the theft by pressin’ her breasts right into his back. She hadn’t bothered to bind them and he could feel the pebbles of her through the coat, hard as little diamonds. She swallowed a gulp, then, damnably casual, she replaced the drink in his hand, her lithe fingers reminding him all they were capable of in doing so. “Best to just give him what he wants.”

Her hand wound up and down his arm, and he swallowed, feeling his thoughts turn from commerce to recreation. Amazing what his woman could do; she stared at him, eyes doe-like as an innocent fawn, as her hand brushed a part of him that was not innocent at all.

“Let’s make a deal,” he said, voice not-quite shaky as his wife innocently put her hand ever so lightly over his belt. “You need metal to produce these engines, and I’ve plenty of it. I would like just the blueprints regarding your engine — that’s all. 5,000 francs and 20 tons of iron, no questions asked. Delivery will be made in St. Etienne in six months.”

Seguin stared at them both for a long, hard moment. “Where are — where are you from, again?”

“Everywhere and nowhere. We travel,” Persephone offered. They belonged to no nation. He’d been born before any nation-state; she, coming later, still held no republic to her name but her father’s house — and her husband’s. “All over. Seen the world, him and me.”

“Originally, then. Please, I must — “Seguin swallowed. “I would like to know. I cannot give away French secrets to her enemies, you understand.”

“I was born on Orthys, in Greece,” he rumbled; technically true, if just barely. “We are not spies for any nation.” 

Seguin was quiet for a long time; Hades eyeballed him, hand lightly caught around his wife’s frame. For a moment Seguin looked vaguely alarmed, as if he had realized the truth of the man and woman in front of him; then he shook his head, his face going relaxed as his mortal brain used faulty logic to explain what he was not seeing.

“I have studied, you know, a bit about Greece. You were named after the old god of the dead of your people, monsieur; a name no man would give his son in the days of the oldest _republique_. Your people are clearly no strangers to boldness.” Seguin held out a hand. “I feel I have no choice but to accept; _fortis Fortuna adiuvat_. What is your address, so I can deliver…?”

He gave the man one; an address that would deliver to one of Hermes’ many holes in the wall scattered across the continent – Hermes would see it from his bar to Hades’ hand, he was sure. The God of Thieves did not dare to steal from the King of the Dead. No one did.

“A pleasure to do business,” Seguin said, formally, and he saw the glint of well-hidden fear in the man’s eyes.

“Yes,” he said, turning to look at Persephone; her eyes were shining back at him, brilliant pools of amber brown grains swirling up to him and entirely a better sight. “A pleasure, indeed.”

She grinned up at him, bawdiness evident in her ebullient smile.

“Do you er — do you and your lady still wish to ride?” Seguin scuffed his foot across the floor. “I am afraid the accommodations will be a bit — you see, we did not plan for it, and well — the seats may not be what you are accustomed to. I am afraid it is still a prototype — we have only one car we were using for storage, and there is no room with us in the controls. It may be a bit ramshackle, but — it should be proof of concept enough.”

“That’s alright, we wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Persephone purred, holding his hands.

“Then I suppose we shall go.” Seguin looked relieved to be parting company; he was as well. And Persephone, whose hands were dancing just on the blatant side of obvious in playing with his waistband as she leaned her hand over his back, was more eager than either of them combined.

He walked with her leaning against him, nothing chaste about the way he was holding tightly onto the fabric on her thighs. He watched carefully, despite the distraction, at how Seguin opened the door — and led them into a dim little room, with just one rather ramshackle bench hastily welded into place. It could have been a luggage rack, he thought; perhaps it had been in another life, but it would hold them.

“I apologize; it will be a bit dark. We do not have windows on the cars as of yet,” Seguin said, his cheeks a bit pink as he avoided looking at either of them.

 “We ain’t bothered,” Persephone muttered, and he’d barely resisted the urge to kiss her until the door closed. When it did, he didn’t bother to hide his ardor, bending instantly over her and smothering her in kisses. She received each one eagerly, her fingers expertly gliding and teasing in ways that made him wild. Her bag hit the floor quickly, and Hades’ fingers touched her dress, undoing the buttons in the back. She didn’t protest.

“Here?” he asked dimly, as Persephone’s lips lightly bit at his neck, her hand dipped into his breeches to try to manually stimulate him, not that he needed it; he’d been unbearably hard for her from the first kiss on. His body knew hers in ways that almost scared him; it stirred at her touch on command.

“Mm. Worth the wait?” She murmured, giggling like a woman not even half her years; he nodded, dumbly. He realized, in the dim light, that Persephone had gone out of her way to put him in a situation keenly comfortable to him: metal above, below, and all around them, and darkness seeped through the room. He looked at her, eyes soft.

“You did this for me?” He murmured; she nodded, grinning bravely as his vixen-wife shrugged her shoulders out of her dress.

“You think I go lookin’ for a big ole noise-makers for anyone _but_ you?” The whistle of the smokestack blew, a warning as to their departure, no doubt, but he was only dimly aware of it, as his wife wiggled out of the top of her dress and, as bold as ever, let it fall down, where it got caught on her hips.

In lieu of answering, he bent down and had his mouth on her little breasts within moments. She murmured a soft whimper and Hades slowly reacquainted himself with the taste of his wife’s skin, a pleasing thrum echoing through his throat. Too long, too long without this taste and this woman — she murmured _don’t stop_ , and he wouldn’t, couldn’t. Her breasts were wonderful things, still so sensitive after all these years he half imagined he could make her come with just his tongue. He switched breasts and was rewarded with a little sigh he liked best. She wrapped her hands around his head as he scraped the bottom edge of his teeth against the other, and he felt her hips move instinctually, already wanting as much as he did. He repeated the gesture on the other breast and her cries grew louder; he looked up and saw her, cheeks golden, lips bitten — _beautiful_.

She pulled him back to his feet and kissed him, kissed him as if she could jam six months worth of kisses into the core of him. He groaned, losing ground as she pressed herself tightly into him; her fingers played with getting his breeches open as he rolled his head down, kissing at her shoulders, her neck. She was taking her sweet time getting his pants open and he debated how pissed she would be if he opted to open the gates so to speak, himself; his cock was miserably iron-hard and he wanted it freed, or, better yet, buried, and fast.

“I missed you,” she murmured against his mouth as she squeezed his aching cock, teasing him, teasing him; he moaned into her mouth, wordlessly agreeing. He tried to unbolt his coat slowly, not wanting to wrinkle it; she hissed and all but threw his coat down. “Need you,” she whispered, still squeezing him and making little high pitched whines in response to her kisses. He backed off, nodded; yes, he needed her, too. His clumsy fingers went for the buttons of his shirt next — there was no mistaking her little petulant noises as anything but urgency — and she hissed. “Just get it _off_.”

“I’m trying,” he murmured, trying to undo his cuffs while being kissed half-way into submission.

“Just up, over the head,” she spat out, and then she tugged his shirt up, and then for a few, shameful seconds he was blinded, and her fingertips were scalding as they glanced about his skin.  He couldn’t see her but didn’t need to see her to know what she looked like: the soft _click_ of her tongue told him she was grimacing, and he bit back the urge to complain she’d stretch out his collar. He moved as she tugged, finding a rhythm to getting the damn thing off this way, and when she finally succeeded in wrenching the hated thing off the top of his head, her grin was as bright and dazzling as any glint of Olympus’s glory. “ _Finally_.”

She ran his hands over his chest in a way that couldn’t be called anything but _greedy_. He ignored the discomfort at being shirtless and being somewhat blatantly ogled – he wasn’t going to get used to that, seemingly ever, it seemed — and just tugged her closer, every bit of his skin longing for the one he hadn’t touched in six months. “You think we’re the first to fuck in one of these?” He whispered; she kissed him.

“Wasn’t fuckin I had in mind,” she purred, and he was slightly alarmed by that, but then her hand started to pull down on his loosened britches and everything in his brain short-circuited as she undid the ties; he helped her scoot them lower and as she bent down to remove his boots, he groaned out loud. She took her damn time, parading that little ass in front of his face, her dress still damnably clinging to it. The thought of fucking her like this – standing, from behind, her cute little ass bent appreciatively over to take him — sounded breathtaking. He reached out a hand and tried to shove the garment down to get her ready; she shot him a _look_ that was half-lidded and full of desire and his cock throbbed from how fucking _hard_ this woman made him.

She stood up and wriggled, the skirt falling to her knees in one clean stroke. She leaned down, undid the buttonhook on each boot and kicked out of them with her usual grace.

He held his arms out to retake her into them. The train bellowed and he felt himself be shifted slightly; he didn’t care. He was plenty surefooted and he’d keep her steady.

“Look at you,” she purred; she ran her arms down his forearms but otherwise didn’t rejoin him, which only amplified the torture.  

“Turn around,” he muttered, and she smirked and shook her head.

“I wanna look at my man. What a fine specimen of a male God.” Her arms went to his shoulders and no farther; he bit back a whimper — but only just — when she let a fingertip very lightly graze his neck. “Ought to put you in a museum like this and charge people to see. Be a big hit with the ladies and — some kinds of gentlemen, I’ve no doubt.”

“Ain’t interested in bein’ popular,” he hissed; her hands refused to go lower than his chest, just slowly kneading the skin there which was well and good but wasn’t doing a damn thing for his cock.

“I know, I know. And I like that about ya. You don’t give a shit what anyone thinks.” Her hands went down his chest, gently raking little white marks down clear to his belly. “Does occur to a goddess, though, that sometimes, her man needs to know he’s appreciated.”

“Let me in,” he ground out, this time less a question than a command. “ _Please_. Been too long, lover, I want —”

She dropped to her knees instead of getting into another position; her hands caressed his thighs, and he stopped talking, focusing instead on her lips. She wouldn’t have taken that pose if she wasn’t planning something right wicked. “Oh, darlin’ —“

“Seems to me I’m sittin’ in a metal god’s space surrounded entirely by his domain,” she purred; she reached for his hand and he gave it with no resistance. “Seems to me I should do him some worship.”

“You don’t —“ he started, then trailed away, his words failing as his wife’s mouth closed over his fingers; she gently stroked his power in-between his fingers, then into her mouth. It was — _fuck_. He panted against her fingers and she chuckled, deep and throaty.

“Sometimes, I think you could come just from this. And sometimes, I do want to try.” She smirked at him, but any reply died on his lips as her hands stroked his thighs; one finger slowly — achingly slowly — lightly touched just the tip of his cock. “Not today, though.”

“You don’t —“ He sputtered, but that was all he got out before she moved quick, faster than he could quite focus on, and slowly pumped his cock, her little hands slowly forming a rhythm. She leaned forward and blew on it and his knees trembled.

“I want you to come in my mouth today,” she growled, and then she swallowed the head of him, and then he damn near _howled._ His hands immediately fell into her hair as her head bobbed up, then down, her little tongue slowly gliding against the head of him, giving him friction, delicious friction. Her teeth grazed just a bit of it, a slight pain, but pain so well mixed with pleasure he just moaned quietly. The motion of the train rocked them and he didn’t dare look away as she moved, slowly moving him between her lips.

Her eyes never left his. There was something intense there, a burning star that nearly scorched his fingers, but all he could do was pat her head, slowly panting.

“Oh,” he whispered as she went _deep_ , her little mouth straining with keeping him deep in his throat. “Oh, Persephone —” he whispered; he fought the urge to tug her hair as she moved back, trying to catch a breath and licking at the head of him, her tongue sliding down his cock like it was a savored treat.

“I really missed you,” she murmured, and then he was back in her mouth, and he moaned, slow, as she tortured him sweetly; her tongue swirled around the head of him, his hands just so deep in those curls.

“Let’s sit,” he groaned. “Won’t last — “

She made a noise of protest and shook her head slightly; not that she had much ability to move her head, sliding the head of him back and forth with her mouth as her hands worked his cock, and worked it well. She pulled away to smile, and he tried to tug her upwards but she ducked down, lightly nibbling the sack underneath — and breathed a question in a slow murmur that he couldn’t quite make-out in the fog of pleasure she had trapped him in. She stilled, and he blinked, refocused on her.  

Her eyes were still on him, and she stilled, waiting for an answer.

“What?” He licked his lips.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” The reply was instinctual. In as much as he trusted anyone, he trusted her. She nodded and went back to the job she was doing on him. He couldn’t look away, even with the instinctual need to close his eyes and thrust. Her hands didn’t stop working at him and without the worry of hitting her mouth too hard, he allowed himself to move against her fingers, slick and sweet and so powerful.

“Move forward a bit,” she murmured. He flexed his brows; confused. “Wanna try something new.”

“What could we possibly do we ain’t done yet?” he murmured. She just smiled; his curiosity was admittedly peaked. 20,000 years of copulation left admittedly little to discover; he didn’t mind that. A novelty mattered little; being intimate with _her_ mattered more. She gestured for him to get on with it and he shrugged and did as she asked, moving forward a couple of steps. Wasn’t like they exactly had long in this little afternoon delight. He thought of voicing that thought but one look at her face – light blush, wide smile – made him stop. She was looking forward to whatever she had in mind. “Tell me what you want of me, lover,” he murmured.

“Hm.” He expected her to stand, the teasing over, but she leaned over and grabbed her bag instead, head bent down as she fished something out. She looked up, pecked a quick kiss on his cock, and dipped her finger into something – the oil.

“Don’t need that,” he said, gesturing down. “Come up here, love. Let's try to…well, let’s _try_.” What he was trying for went unspoken, too many past misfortunes making it too hard to voice, anymore, just what he wanted to put inside her. Like so much else, this had gone to shorthand between them.

She smiled and shook her long hair. “Can _try_ all winter. This one is just for you.” He swallowed, uncomfortable, then more so when she pressed a kiss to his knee. She coated one finger with oil and moved it behind him and…. _oh_.

Well, that _was_ new.  He’d certainly never been touched there. He stared at her, slack-jawed, as she ran a well-oiled finger around his backside. _Into_ his backside.

“I’m not…” he almost jerked her finger out but didn’t; Persephone had her lips bit tight together, concentrating on slowly dipping her finger into him. He put his hand over her arm, ignoring the hurt look on her face.

“I’m not a….” His mind searched for the word, failed to find it. “ _Eromenos_.” Closest he could get.

“You’re _my erastes_ ,” she growled; her finger plunged deeper without warning and he gasped at the sudden intrusion. She pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock, distracting from the surprise by slathering it with attention. He squirmed, uncomfortable. “Just one finger. That’s all. You got control of everything here, every bit of this room’s under your command. Even me,” she whispered, scalding, and he nodded his acquiescence for those brown eyes even if he wasn’t sure he liked this invasion, wasn’t sure he wanted her to see him like this.

He did not like the idea of being a hooked fish, no matter how small the hook. Her finger probed, searching; he hissed. It was a strange feeling and he couldn’t understand any desire for it; she leaned forward, slowly taking his cock back into her mouth and going _deep_ on the front too. He whined.  It must be uncomfortable yet she gave no sign, lovingly caressing his cock with her mouth and nimbly moving her little finger with her hand.

“Wasn’t made for that,” he ground out, and the girl just silently raised an eyebrow; wasn’t he being silly, her old husband, that was the thought in her mind, he knew. She pulled him out of her mouth and looked at him.

“If I can handle this…” she purred, pumping his cock one-handed. She stared at him and slowly slid it back into her mouth, the head of it compressed between her fingers and then expanding into her mouth. She gave him several minutes worth of confusing ecstasy, her finger digging for something while her mouth worked him almost – almost to the point of completion. Her finger hooked something and he went rigid, a strange instinct to void blossoming inside him, and a rather stronger urge not to do so on his wife’s face. “O-" He started, trying to warn her, but she pressed whatever it was that she found again and instead his entire body just went rigid, warmth spreading through his body. He made a noise that even to his own ears sounded more like a strangled bagpipe than any sort of man.

She slid him put of her mouth with an audible _pop. “You_ okay?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment; the warmth spread through his thighs and he whined as she touched his thigh with her free hand. Through considerable strain he managed to look down at her, no doubt glassy-eyed.

“Ah, look at you.” She rubbed at his thigh as he just stuttered, her hand somehow making every last sensation a thousand times more sensitive than it had been. “Look at my man. You’re cute like this.”

“Persephone…” He wanted to kiss her, touch her, _fuck_ her. He ran a hand through her hair and tried to move her back up toward him, but she shook her head.

“Easy, easy. Don’t hurt yourself. Just enjoy,” She bent down to continue her assault, finger crooked inside him.  He stopped with his hand, touching her face before she touched his cock again.

“My man,” she whispered, stroking him. “Gods, _look_ at _you_.” He couldn’t ask her what she meant, paralyzed by his own feelings; her eyes were dark and amused looking at him. He licked his lips, tried to tell her he was close — failed. 

“Hrgh,” he said — it was all he _could_ say — and she kissed him one last time at his mouth before going back to his cock; she was still looking at him when he finally had to turn away, the warmth cresting over his body like an uncontrollable wave. He was not sure if he was drowning or burning, but the warmth radiating out from his groin annihilated everything in its path, a total immolation, and the only thing surviving the fire was her, and the distant sensation that she was _still_ working on him, and he looked down and she was looking up at him, and her eyes were full of love, for him, for _him. H_ e came so hard he was quite sure his ancient heart _damn well_ stopped, but his wife drank down the whole damn thing and slowly, carefully withdrawing both her head and her hand only when he’d stopped twitching into her which to his shame took several moments. Still, after swallowing all of that, she looked at him, cheeks glowing as if she were the one who was sated, and he could only look away. His legs went wobbly; rather than suffering the indignity of wobbling over to the bench on unsteady legs, he leaned his back against the wall, the metal cool against his sweaty skin.

“Look at you,” she murmured again; he felt the heat of her moving over him, hands gripped as his sides as he tried to come back to himself. He couldn’t quite manage any response but breathing. Persephone nuzzled at his chin, loving and sweet, and he managed, with surprising difficulty, to put an arm around her shoulder.

“Wife,” he murmured, and she looked up at him. “Kiss me.” He was desperate for it, needed it from her — he was shaking and vulnerable and he needed to touch her and he couldn’t quite voice anything but that need; he was sated but needed her, needed her. She smiled, standing, and his heart went into his throat as her lips slowly grazed his cheek.

“You old romantic,” she murmured, kissing him and kissing him hard. He grabbed her chin, and it was all he could do to hold on to her, to kiss her and kiss her again and again until she finally broke aware from him.

“Lover,” she whispered, giggling, into his ear, then kissed at his neck; he didn’t reply, just holding her tight. “My _lover_. He’s a beautiful man, you know? Beautiful man.” She stared at him with a soft, lazy smile and he still couldn’t quite look at her, an odd mix of emotions boiling through him.  “So, so handsome when he’s all befuddlement and instinct.” She nipped lower on his neck, suckled at the bite, leaving a mark on his neck that made him groan even rumpled at the bottom of a train car. He wound a hand through her hair trying to sort through his thoughts, which came slow; far too late, he realized she hadn’t gotten much out of that tryst at all. “Hades?” A hand cupped his cheek, and turned him toward her. “You’re quiet, even for you. I break ya?”

“No. Just — no.” He huffed, still out of breath, his cock sticky and flat at his thigh. He tried to summon the blood back to rouse it; wasn’t working. And she needed to be taken care of; he would have to use other means. “Should – you didn’t—”. He reached out a hand to try to help take care of her, but she flopped a hand over his arm.

“At home.” Her hands wound down his chest, running over the rising and falling of his heavy breath like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I’ll get my turn there, when we try at home.” She ran her nose over his and smiled. “Try real hard this season. Got a good feeling about this year.”

He nodded – yes. Be a good year, he thought. “You’re generous today, lover.”

“Hmm.” Her smile faltered a second but only that. “Might be a woman felt you deserved a bit of spoilin’. ‘Sides I saw this train and knew you’d lose your head for it, even if it is frightful loud.”

“And…the other thing?” He didn’t quite have words to put to it – a part of him still felt ashamed he had allowed her to do that to him. That hadn’t been anything _he’d_ taught her, and he’d taught her everything she ever knew about this subject in the past. That thought was sour, and made him frown. “Where was that from, lover?” There was an edge in his voice and he heard it and he knew, from the way she froze up a bit on him, that she heard it too.

“Hermes,” she murmured, plainly.

“ _Hermes_ ,” he hissed, his mind instantly going back to his office. _Made her day_ , huh? Perhaps Hermes had used his clever tongue to convince his wife to do such a – a _technique_ on him, makin’ his wife show him off. “You talkin’ to Hermes about our sex life now?”

Hermes didn’t tend to have many secrets — least when it came to keeping other people’s.

“No,” she nuzzled up against him. “He was tellin’ me about his pianist, you know Hermes, he’s the type to overshare and says, well, that his newest mortal’s getting’ up there and he’s havin’ difficulty….rising, and he said that well...that sort of move tends to pop that mortal’s champagne cork pretty nicely. I thought, well, if it works for a mortal...” She saw the look on his face — he hadn’t had an issue with that and never had, and though he was an older man he’d always thought himself always capable of satisfying her — and laughed. “Now I know you ain’t got that kind of issue but I thought I’d awful like to see you blow like that.” She kissed his cheek. “I didn’t tell him I would do it and I ain’t tellin’ him shit about takin’ inspiration from him, either. Don’t go gettin’ in a huff.” 

He wanted to argue but didn’t; he could tell from the edge in her voice that the woman was fixing for a fight on it. Easier to ignore the bumpy road; he nodded, acquiesced. If she said she wouldn’t tell, he’d have to trust she wouldn’t.

The train signaled its final cry, and he moved, for once grateful – if only to give him a good reason to change subjects. “Got to get dressed. Lest we give that man a sight.”

“I don’t feel like sharing the view,” she whispered, and kissed him one last time.

She watched him do so as she pulled up her dress; she sighed as he unbuttoned his top before putting it on, re-buttoning it and hastily drawing up his breeches and waistcoat on top. It was quicker that way in the end, but he didn’t feel like arguing about it. She watched him the whole time he re-dressed, and he felt a simultaneous and complicated mix of both affection and irritation at her gawking. He heard the snap of a jar and was surprised to see her down what was left of the lemonade in one quick pass.

“Shoulda brought more,” she groused, putting the empty back in the bag. She turned and he re-buttoned her dress, frowning. She hadn’t been drinking much for a long while. Shouldn’t do it now, if she wanted to — well, try.

“I can buy you more,” he murmured, fumbling over the buttons. He debated bringing up the drinking, decided it didn’t matter. She could have a few now, wasn’t like there was any chance she was…carrying, at the moment. “Always provide for you.”

“I know.” She leaned back in his arms, steppin’ into her shoes. “I _know_. Just watched you buy a damn huge machine, know you can buy me a drink.” It struck some sort of chord with her, clearly, though what – he could not imagine.  Wasn’t like he hadn’t always provided for her, was part of his role as her husband. Had promised he would in their marriage vows. But now, she seemed to resent it, and he couldn’t fathom why.

Still, he nodded, backed off. Wasn’t important. Didn’t matter.  He’d keep his head low, pick his battles. Wasn’t worth ruining the day.

The train began to slow; he rocked back on his heels and walked over to her. 

“Make it up to you mighty quick,” he promised; he wasn’t talkin’ about the liquor, and this was a safer topic. His hand brushed her breasts. “Promise. Gonna be a good winter.”

He hoped, he hoped. 

The train clicked under their heels and she stumbled back into him. “Next winter, you gonna pick me up in one of these?”

“Assumin’ buildin’ in the summer goes well. Might take a couple of seasons. But it’ll be done. You gonna ride on my lap?” He thought he’d like that — make sure the seats were nice and cushioned.

“Hm.” Her eyes glittered. “Maybe so. See if you can settle down that racket though.” He wanted to ask why the _maybe_ , but the woman was being too mysterious by half and before he could say anything, Seguin opened the door, asking if they enjoyed the ride.

“Oh yes,” Persephone said, smirking a bit. “Oh yes.”

They made chit chat for a few moments, then walked off, beginning their long walk back to the way he’d come; faster to go down that way than any other, at least for now. He caught her looking up one last time at the sun before she stepped onto the path behind him, and wished he hadn’t. But he held out his hand, and she took it, and she smiled, and that – that was more brilliant than the sun. “Gonna be a good year,” she said. He hoped so. He sure hoped so.

But if it wasn’t, there was room to improve. Next year would be different, he thought; oh yes, next year would be different. They’d have more time, and he’d figure it out with more time, he was sure.

Just had to hold out ‘til then.

He tucked her ahead of him as they re-entered the path back to the Underworld; his hands already pulling up her skirts as the daylight fled behind him.

“Time to get you yours,” he growled, kneeling down as he slid himself between thighs already trembling for him.

 “Gonna be a good winter,” she murmured, then whined, as he pressed her back pressed up against the dirt walls, going on the attack. He couldn’t speak to promise it, but tried to put his desires into his tongue as he took her, surrounded her in her own element.

It would be a good year. All he had to do was keep his head down, and next year, they’d have more time, and surely that was all they needed. Just a bit of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this is coming somewhat late; you may have noticed the last couple chapters I have been updating on an almost biweekly schedule; I'm not happy about it, but I've run out of things I have done to stay ahead of where I'm writing and I just hit the end of the semester plus a heavy work month. When I started this project, I thought every chapter would be between 1-5k, as the early chapters often were; the last few have been running about 10k, and even though I am a fast typist, that's proving a bit hard to keep up with and keep the plot of how this winds together in my head. For now, I'm trying to decide which is better between two options:
> 
> a) Keep updates coming on a weekly schedule with the proviso that the stories will be shorter (and may wind up being multi parts instead of each chapter being one unique story with some callbacks to others)  
> b) Keep updates coming when they're done, which would be on a roughly every-two-weeks schedule but could be a few days shorter/longer depending on story-length, ie basically it's done when it's done. 
> 
> B is what I'm leaning toward, but I haven't decided which I prefer (and if you have an opinion and want to weigh in, by all means!). 
> 
> Thanks to FrenchToast, who once again manages to keep my worst typing from inflicting the internet. <3
> 
> AND NOW, END NOTES:
> 
>  _45°32'03.1"N 4°38'24.6"E_ \- A spot in a forest preserve on the _Route des Étangs_ in France; heavily wooded area, roughly between Lyon and St. Etienne.
> 
>  _Gaul_ \- old, old, incredibly old name for France (Gaul as a nation-state effectively stopped existing in 486 AD).
> 
>  _Your sister’s orchard_ \- Athena's olive orchard.
> 
>  _Persephone's brother and sister_ \- Arion and Despoina, respectively. While Arion was born in classical times in this fic, Despoina is a relatively young goddess, born in 1816, and quite a surprise to Demeter, Poseidon, Persephone, and Hades.
> 
>  _Seguin_ \- inventor of the first suspension bridge and an improver on early railway designs from England; built the first rail on the European continent. 
> 
> _Plouton_ \- An euphemistic name for Hades, meaning "riches". Since classical references were _in_ in the 1800s (though neoclassicism was starting to trail off at this point), Seguin would probably understand the name and what it meant.
> 
>  _Mr. Stevenson’s Locomotion_ \- The inventor and name of the first train, invented in England. 
> 
> _fortis Fortuna adiuvat_ \- Fortune Favors the Brave.
> 
>  _Eromenos_ and _erastes_ \- the younger and the older male in Greek homosexual pederasty, respectively. Hades doesn't quite have the vocabulary to suggest he isn't used to being the penetrated partner, and Seph is poking fun of him being older than her. 
> 
> _[Hermes'] pianist_ \- Hermes always had a weak spot for musicians. Since Hermes in ancient greek myth has romances with men and women, I've made him bisexual here as well. 
> 
> Next time: Post-Hadestown, Eileithyia visit with a couple of other guests and Hades gets called out.


	17. Hindsight Being What It is [51. Public Kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You have options. If you aren’t happy.” Hera squeezed his hands. Proper options, not just little two-bit starving children he lured in the streets. She’d seen that little display and known that to be a worrying sign. Hades was slipping._
> 
> _“Ain’t no options,” Hades said, quietly. “Not for me. Learned that the hard way. Sides, if it had been you and me?” He chuckled. “Wouldn’t be anyone else left alive by now._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-Hadestown, a couple days after [Unmoored](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/47763313). (This part of the timeline is thus far: [Walk With You in the Wind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44990554), [Bramble, Briar, and Thorn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44107945), [Calm Before the Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/46193947), and [Unmoored](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/47763313). 
> 
> This is best read with the chapters listed above but can be read on its own if you keep in mind that Persephone has gotten pregnant, and they're both coping with the fallout of Hadestown as well as previous attempts to have children that have ended not-so-well.
> 
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, complicated family relationships, mythological references

“ _Maan,”_ Eileithyia whispered. “I don’t like this place.”

Hera rolled her eyes then immediately wished she hadn’t: Hermes' mouth pulled into a soft smirk, and Artemis, yet another of her husband’s bastards, chuckled softly. She’d made a mistake, relaxed too much in her vigilance in her many years off Olympus.  Hera felt her motherly wrath rise up in her; wasn't ridiculous to be afraid of a place you'd never been, and Artemis certainly wasn’t any more at ease than Eileithyia was, yet here was the cockerel crowing: _look at this girl, what an idiot_. Hera knew, though, that bravery wasn’t even the reason they snickered. Eileithyia wasn’t playing the damn game of politics, was being honest when the situation – isolated in a foreign realm, with only two of her husband’s bastards for company – could hardly be more dire.

So despite her urge to scream at the two bastards—one she might have indulged in the past – Hera reached out and only lightly adjusted her daughter’s sari, which was starting to slip past her shoulder. Hermes hadn’t given them enough time to change after finding them out in their newest temple; he seemed antsy to get back, which spoke more to Hades' impatience than his own. “Chin up, Eileithyia. It is natural life feels strange in the shadow of death. Show no fear. Mama won't let Uncle Hades eat _you._ ”

Her daughter, freeborn and trueborn, sniffled only lightly, keeping a wobbly but stiff upper lip while the two bastards both looked away, chastened. They knew Hera meant as much in the words she didn’t say as the words she did.  Artemis pretended to be busy with her bow, which she had insisted on bringing along for no reason that Hera could see it necessary for; Hermes stole a drink from Persephone’s bar. Supposed that was only a little plucky; Persephone probably wouldn’t notice the drink being gone for once. It was likely his only opportunity to pull one over on the Underworld Queen and so he had taken it. _Politics._ Eileithyia stayed staring at the floor; not the smartest option to take, and also the least useful.

Hera sighed and stared out one of Hades’ windows into the darkness.  She’d protected Hebe and Eileithyia too much, and her girls, no idiots themselves, were clueless at the game. She’d put Eileithyia back into the mortal politics when they got to their new home; break her into it in the human world instead of leaving her to open hospitals. Medicine was more Apollo’s thing, anyway.

“ _Maan,”_ Eileithyia whispered, the sound as loud as the horribly rickety train, swaying from side to side. “I’m cold. Are you cold?” She heard another titter from Artemis and turned away for a moment, staring at her with the cool eyes that shouted _Queen of Heaven_. It had been enough to warn Artemis off as a child; now she just shrugged, her neat, dark hair falling over her ears.

“Don’t recall anyone inviting _you_ ,” she’d sneered at the little thing.

“I’m the expert at multiple births,” she had spit back. “Thanks to you.” Hera stiffened, felt the gust of air pull through her hair and knew it was her emotions causing it; in the reflection,she could see in the dark window, her eyes looked dark, black. Eileithyia was looking at her, her own eyes wide, her mouth in a perfect _oh_. Hermes had his back turned, leaning into the bar; she thought it atypical until he turned around, two drinks in his hands. _Settle down_ was all but written into his gentle features.

“Ladies, _ladies_.” He handed a drink to each of them. For her, a gin and tonic. “Don’t let her get a rise out of you,” he muttered. She glared at him but felt, somehow, some of the anger slip out of her as she sipped at his handiwork.

He handed another drink to Artemis: whiskey, straight. His voice was low, but she heard his words anyway: “Don’t let our step-mama toss you from the train.” She slugged it back like the ill born, uncouth child she was and Hera tried not to notice the little satisfied smirk on her face, knowing she’d managed to rile her: her father’s same smirk.

So many of them had that damn smirk.

“Hermes?” Eileithyia said, timid as a dormouse. “Could I have a drink, as well? Some cherry fizz?”  
Even Hera couldn’t stop herself from sighing. Eileithyia didn’t have to make herself sound like a child, even if she was the goddess of childbirth.

“Course, of course.” Hermes smiled brightly – he did not smile in any other way – and Hera felt a twinge of regret as he smiled brightly at her daughter. She had not played her cards well when Zeus started bringing in his multitude of bastard whelps. She was too offended to think of the long term, not when so many of these children had his eyes, his mouth, his coloring, so much of him and none of her at all. She should have opened her arms to the children, for now they had formed a wall around her, holding her as a common enemy.

And now she was going into her brother’s walls; ironic.

“Thank you, Hermes,” Hera murmured, as he handed Eileithyia a perfect fizz. Eileithyia smiled up at her half-brother, younger than her by a good three years and yet somehow he seemed ancient in comparison to her with the old face he’d put on.

Hermes smiled at her; he, at least, had proved flexible. She had no love for his whore of a mother, but the boy had inherited mostly the best of her features – her looks mainly – and his father’s quick mind.

He danced away from her, taking a position next to Artemis sitting on the desk. By unspoken agreement, they’d given Eileithyia and Hera the rather musty old couch that Hades had in his private car. She had wanted to protest they had not needed it, could ride in one of the wider cars. She had not wanted to share with Artemis, who’d perched out a spot long before Hermes had encountered Hera. She was the highest guest on the train, sure, but she would have been more than happy to trade the privilege of ridging in the Royal family’s car for avoiding Artemis and Hermes catty little commentary.

But then Eileithyia had gotten frightened by the dead souls. One look at the ghastly wailing dead had left her squeezing her mother’s hand, and Hera had not protested being seated with her husband’s bastards after all. Really, the cart was full of surprises. she was surprised Hades traveled in something so pedestrian – the interior looked like he hadn’t bothered to update it in the last century, and the less said about the messy welding marks on that desk, the better. It was blocking the bar almost entirely – only someone of Hermes height could cross it.

Supposed it wasn’t the worst plan to get his wife to stop drinking, though Hera would still bet good odds that Persephone could crawl across that desk to get to the bar.  The girl was both as sharp-tongued as her mother and as crafty as her father; if she couldn’t sweet-talk Hades into getting access, she’d find another way. 

Hera sipped her drink and leaned over, looking with interest as a part of Hades that wasn’t just dull, black soil started to come into view. A dim light blossomed slowly, and she saw a wide wall. “Crossing the Styx now,” Hermes said quietly, but Hera didn’t listen. She was too preoccupied seeing what came next: first bits and bobs of machinery – not a surprise there, Hades always loved anything like that –and then, odd thing, a city – or what looked like an abandoned one. There were only a few lights on there, a couple of larger buildings – mills? She wasn’t sure – pumping away, out of dozens of factories. There were several almost-apartment looking buildings, too; barracks for the dead? Ghoulish and odd, and without signage: odder still, but she supposed the dead found where they needed to go.

“That is Hadestown?” She scoffed. Zeus had been feeling long threatened by his brother under the ground. Hera would let her oh-so-darling husband know that he had little to be afraid of; he’d built it wide but, ultimately, shallow.

“That is it indeed, Auntie.” Hermes sipped at his own drink – something brown and rich, but she couldn’t tell just what cocktail he’d chosen – and shook his head with a slight smile on his lips. “You’re comin’ in the offseason, I’m afraid. Things have been turned down; Missus’ request.”

“Shame,” she said, though it wasn’t, not really. The way the others were going _on_ about how bad things were getting between these two – Demeter had been bleating about it for _millenniums_ – it was bound to start up again whenever Hades got restless. They all had that itch for control; all things considered, his method of gaining it was eccentric but harmless. The more Hades spent his time building electric horror-shows shambling with the dead, the less he was likely to try to reach up and grab Zeus’ crown for all his fussing. Zeus hated he'd figured out how to harness the lighting for his own ends, fearing a coup.  If Hades were going to do it, he would have done it ages ago.

But – then again – one would have thought if he was going to knock up Demeter’s eldest, he would have done it ages ago. Literal _ages_ ago.

And yet, here they were. Centuries from the last trueborn birth, and here Hades was preparing his home for a new arrival, one – no, three – that weren’t dead. Hera felt a bit ill at ease with this, but she couldn’t deny him; old Dis had a right to at least attempt to build a family. She could only hope the children were trueborn for him, though she had her doubts. One didn’t wait so long for their tree to grow roots if one were capable of providing the means of seeding their roots deep in the dirt.

And if Demeter had proved anything, the dirt was certainly fertile.

She watched with curiosity as they whipped past the town, and passed what surely must be Tartarus, a dull glow of a yellow-flame river buzzing gently in her eyes. Hermes didn’t point out this landmark. Hera avoided looking at it. Instead, she looked away, played with the peacock feathers in her hair – thankfully common enough in the Asian sub-continent, another sign that the continent enjoyed her as much as she liked her new home – and sipped upon her drink. Hades had been granted that particular puzzle to decode and she would simply watch to see how he handled it. As she had always done. Thankfully, Tartarus faded quickly, into a rather inspired brief run of ordinary river-water, tepid and stagnant looking, even from a distance she could imagine the smell. From that, the land blossomed into fields of ghostly white plants and large twists of briar-esque roots.

“Asphodel fields,” Hermes murmured. “Older side of town. House is mostly here; not long now.”

There were flashes of soul, wisps poking at a river whose details she could barely make out; the train went too fast, careening around a steep bend. Hera held onto the bolts of the seat, a rare admission of physical weakness but one she was gratified to see each of them struggle through: Hermes fingers lightly touching the desk, and Artemis’ hand holding her end. Eileithyia threw herself at her mother, and Hera removed one hand, lightly touched her shoulder.

“Not long now, _betee,_ ” she said, and Artemis snickered at the foreign tongue, but Hera ignored her. It was something that was just for them, just for Hera and Eileithyia and Hebe. She’d have liked to have taught it to Ares, to Hephaestus, but their father had gotten his hooks in too heavy in them: they stayed on Olympus. Never traveled with their mother.

She missed them, but it was, as it was. Not a priority, not now. Hades had taken any potential gossip about them off the table for at least the next several months. Maybe years.

She couldn’t help but wonder what had brought her brother’s mind to finally spawn. Supposed she’d find out soon enough.

“You’re lucky, ladies, looks like he’s working on extending the line,” Hermes said; his voice sounded far away, and she suspected he was thinking of his own family ties, of how to explain to Hades how he’d been expected to bring one, and had brought three instead. Hera could be forgiven as an unexpected arrival; she had more power than Hermes, and even her stubborn brother couldn’t begrudge Hermes for her.

But _Artemis_ …Artemis’ presence was Hermes invitation, she was sure. He hadn’t needed to go to Olympus to find out Hera wasn’t there, she’d been gone more than she’d been on Olympus over the last century or so. Artemis was here because Hermes had seen Hades call for Eileithyia, and he hadn’t wanted his _favorite_ sister (and Persephone was, unquestionably, his favorite) to go without options. To be possibly hurt, or mislead. Politics.

Hades was hardly immune to them; he was notoriously zealous of his borders. He’d barely drawn the short straw before he was barring the gates; mortals entered, no one left. Wouldn’t accept a single touch, not after the end of the war, but they’d all supposed that was to be expected; after Hestia denied him, and Leuke, well. _Leuke._  That had been a disaster from the start. No wonder he’d hidden himself away, and ignored all his callers.

Except for one person, eventually.

It had taken her a long time, but Persephone had wormed her way down, and Hera hadn’t known how she’d done it, but Demeter’s girl had wiggled her backside onto a throne. Hera had given it maybe six months once Demeter found out.

Let it not be said that the goddess of marriage was afraid to admit she had been wrong.

The train slowly – miserably slowly – slugged itself to a stop. Hermes got up before it had even finished, hoping off with a well-practiced grace and holding out his hand toward Eileithyia first. Clever man; Hera nodded in crisp approval as she stood on her own.

Hera found it was best not to offer anyone a potential advantage. Give someone your hand, and they’ll give you a bill for the favor.

Hera’s favors were worth more simply helping her stand. Hermes simply nodded toward her, then glanced toward Artemis, who had also all-but-thrown herself off the top of the desk.

“Let’s ride,” she said, in her deep voice. “How far do we have to go?” There was a happiness to her voice at that thought; it made sense, Hera thought, the savage woman enjoying the idea of fighting across the bleak landscapes of the underworld. She’d be well disappointed; the groves certainly never had game in them.

“Not far, not far.” Hermes opened the door and helped all three of them out; Hera had to give a rather undignified little hop as she walked out of the door of Hades’ little train station. Artemis didn’t bother to hide her disappointment with the rather pedestrian looking station; she made a tch noise as she scanned through the building, her bone-white bow in her arms looking nothing but ridiculous. “Straight up to the fields’ is where we’re goin'. That’s the biggest part of the house.”

“ _Part_ of the house?” Hera frowned. She hadn’t seen Hades' castle in eons, but she couldn’t imagine that Hermes was referring to anything else. Whores would have their trinkets; supposed she couldn’t be too surprised Persephone had probably had him considerably expand that old black, slate temple that had been the Underworld’s main portal when they’d finally retaken it during the war. He nodded at her, but it was wavering, as if he’d realized he’d given away something he should not have.

“Well, you see, Uncle’s house – it’s really everywhere and nowhere.” Hermes shrugged. “Most of it’s in the fields, mind, but there’s an office door that leads to the new town, and a porch that’s off in Elysium; rumor is there’s a basement route direct to Tartarus, but he ain’t shown me that one.”

She frowned, wondering how Hades had managed that. Moving space/time was Dad’s game, not Hades; they hadn’t thought, somehow, despite all that he had inherited from their father, that he might have inherited a few of father’s powers.

Now she wondered if he did, and her blood went cold. She didn’t think it likely; he’d have saved lives in the war if he could have.

Which gave her the horrible thought that what was there, clinging tight to Demeter’s little daughter was…was.

_Oh. No._

She marched a tiny bit faster; not enough to alert Hermes, who nattered on about underworld architecture like it was the most fascinating subject, and not merely one so incredibly boring that it had no choice but to be safe in mixed company. It felt like it was far too much she was trusting on Hades, and Hera, who trusted no one, felt itchy thinking about the fact that the house of the dead was rising in prominence. “Hermes,” she murmured. “When did Hades' house acquire its dimensions?”

Too much danger may lie in the answer. Hadestown, then the destruction of the seasons – and now, triplets. In one whelping, Persephone would be within one child of tying her for the production of children, with a man who hadn’t produced a single child with any of his women.  But there was another option, a horrible one: that the man ruling the final estate was not her brother, but the man he’d deposed. A man who had birthed six children, and gone mad over it. Seemed hard to believe Hermes or Persephone wouldn’t know the difference, but then, they’d never met her father.

Hermes stopped and paused. “Seems to me it was always been that way. A gift from the one that-a-ways,” he pointed down. “To our dear great-uncle, long may he continue his rest in the ah, root cellar. That’s conjecture…” He shrugged. “But it makes sense. Things down here just _is_ most of the time. He doesn’t make a lot of speeches, you know. To outsiders, anyway. And I don’t think he fully trusts those doors because he wouldn’t have dragged his poor woman up this route if he’d a way to spare her.” Her step-son mimed a pregnant waddle, out in front of him in a parody she was certain Hermes would be struck down for had he tried it within view of Dis. The fact that he seemed to know that made her relax slightly; Hermes would notice any differences in Hades’ behavior, surely. Wouldn’t he?

“She must be quite far along,” Eileithyia said with a frown.

Hermes snorted. “If I were a bettin' man, I’d say the over/under is just about six months along.  Big as a boulder with the three of ‘em. Be lucky if she could even fit one of Hades’ jackets with that belly.”

Eileithyia's frown grew wider. Hera knew why. Multiples among gods were rare; even the Horae and the Fates had been born but one at a time. That had made every betrayal of her own husband more frustrating; how it rankled to know Zeus preferred other beds so much that he had born more bastards in one household than he had in his own.  For Hades to go from zero to three, suddenly, made little sense, but the timing was right if it were, truly, his child. For all her looseness in her own drawers, Demeter had squawked like a parrot over her daughters’ purity. Never mind that the elder daughter had run off with a much older man the literal first second she legally could and the other, well…She made the relationship between Persephone and her Mama look downright peachy as a result, if the rumors were true.

“But late to only be callin' someone now,” Artemis said, and Hera smirked at the hurt in her voice. Wasn’t just Eileithyia that Persephone had cast aside. She felt more at peace with that. Whatever the cause of her slight, it hadn’t been personal.

“Can’t speak as to her reasoning,” Hermes drawled. “But I get the sense this appointment is more _his_ doing than _hers_.”

They all fell silent after that. Eileithyia kept a close hand on her mother as they wandered through a too-quiet path. Despite Hermes reassurances, it still seemed to take forever until they reached the bottom run of the steps of his household. She was surprised to see his home mostly abandoned – no wispy servants, no nymphs, no satyrs, no Styx, no Charon, no – well, nothing. A far cry from Olympus, where Zeus had given all of his copious children their own little task. Hades, evidently, kept a simpler house. Rather than invest in servants, he’d invested in steps.

So many steps.

It was like Dis, she thought; always practically minded. It was no doubt the first thing that he thought of: defensive structures. She was surprised he’d allowed for windows, but perhaps that, too, was, as Hermes put it, the Missus’ influence.

The style was not what she’d have expected of Hades – a nice mansion, French colonial. Wasn’t that where the brat and her mother lived now, down in that upstart nation-state? She supposed that was right. Demeter had never been one for _culture._

Hermes took point position, and she supposed that was good of him; he was the one who came down here the most, and surely he would know the best paths, the best way to assuage Hades, if it came down to it. She glanced over at him and saw nothing but determination on his face.

She came next; as the most senior of the goddesses by a long measure, and a queen in her own right, she would be the first received. She tried to remember, trudging up the steps, the last time she had seen her brother and his little bride. The girl she’d seen at a distance from time to time, whenever her whorish mother had brought her up to Olympus. She’d always been a good deal cleverer than her ma, and that made her careful. Most of their brief interactions were just that: nods and acknowledgments. She certainly hadn’t been carrying anything but a drink in her hand the last few years Hera had seen her. Nothing notable to her but that.

Now him – he was a harder to place creature. She’d talked to him very briefly in…she squinted, trying to remember, as Hermes lead them up the endless amount of stairs. Hades had kept his distance as usual at Zeus’ parties, so the last time she’d seen him had to have been at one of the centennials. 1845, she thought. Yes. He’d come for her turn at hosting the centennial. She vaguely remembered him glowering in corners, his salt and pepper hair the only thing making him notably different than the black marble pillars around him. Demeter’s brat had been notably absent, but Hera wasn’t surprised. Demeter had been shirking her duties on Olympus ever since Hera had beaten her to Zeus’ marriage bed. Would make sense her daughter, too, would shirk her responsibilities whenever they felt inconvenient. Persephone had probably had just had a few too many the night before and her husband had opted to avoid the embarrassment of explaining his wife’s wanton behavior.

The apple, in Hera’s experience, fell quite close to the tree.

“Just a few more,” Hermes murmured, glancing back at the three of them. Only Eileithyia was having a bit of a struggle, her doctor’s bag – a ridiculous contraption, but she had insisted on it, even with the powers she held – heavy and dangling limply from her light wrist. Artemis and Hermes didn’t bother to help her, Hera noted, filing this grudge away with others as she grabbed her bag and tucked it under her arm.

Artemis didn’t seem to struggle at all; her eyes were cool as her grey eyes took in the underworld. She kept her bow in her hands, the only hint that she was somewhat nervous about where they were. Hera didn’t trust the girl, who had shown up in India with Hermes at her side, as if she had been sent for.

That had settled Hera's mind on coming along as well; Hera didn’t trust the third estate, and knew politically that Hades’ rise had meant possible perfidy in her own house. That was the problem with being the Queen of the dominant house: one had only the options to maintain, or to fall.

But then, she hadn't lived on Olympus for a long time now. 

They finally reached the top of the doorway – also French colonial, large, white – and she expected Hermes to knock on the heavy iron knocker on the door. Instead, he turned the knob, and the door bent forward. “Let’s go, ladies,” he murmured.

Well.

That wasn’t like Dis – who didn’t leave anything about himself unlocked. Hera kept on alert.

“Hello?” Hermes shouted into the marble halls, that echoed and echoed and echoed. It was an odd thing; he’d greatly expanded the halls since the last time Hera’s sandals had hit the cold marble of Hades’ floors. That, he had kept. “Anyone home?”

“We’re here,” a man’s voice came, and Hera could not help but relax a bit. That voice was Dis’; darker than their father’s, deeper. The one thing that he had inherited from their mother: grandfather’s voice, which shook like the stars in the night skies. The tightness she had had in her chest from fear of it being her father dissipated; she did not think him likely to be able to imitate Hades’ rumbling bass. “Reception room.”

Hermes seemed to know where that was, even if Hera didn’t – he picked a door off the entry hall quickly, and Hera followed in first. If this was some sort of odd trap for Eileithyia, Hera would fall upon that sword for her girl, would take the injury first.

The room was dark, but Hermes let her go first and so she stumbled through. It took her a moment to get her bearings, but she kept her look poised. A queen of heaven showed no fear in hell.

“Sister?” Hades was sitting on a couch with his little wife, no longer so little in any way: her hair was up in a black snood. It didn’t really _go_ with her outfit, which was certainly not fit for receiving guests. Her dress was an old and ugly _beige,_ homespun thing that could only have come from her mother. She’d always wondered if the girl shed her mother’s colors to wear her husband’s in his own home; evidently, she did not even shed her mother’s wardrobe.

Hades moved quickly, leaning over his wife. His arm was around her back; protective, Hera noted.

Persephone didn’t bother to get up, but frowned thoughtfully at Hera, before murmuring an obviously confused, “Welcome?”

“Why --?” Hades stood quickly, not quite bowing but offering her a stiff, formal nod that she knew was as good as he would do. His face looked thin as paper, his eyes were dark with shadows. He’d clearly slept very poorly since his wife had shown up.

“Peace, brother, peace.” She held her arms out, palms up. “I come only to congratulate you and your wife on your upcoming child.”

“Thank you,” Persephone said, quietly; she had not been able to struggle to her feet, not with her husband standing as her guard, but she was giving Hera all the rope on the damn proverbial ship and waiting to see if she’d hang herself off the plank with it. Hera did not blame her; she would do the same, if it were her in Persephone’s shoes. The best move in chess was a bad move you could trap your opponent into making. It was the same as in politics.

What she did blame the girl for was her brother’s condition. His deep shadows looked only craggier up close, the wrinkles surprisingly many. She frowned as she stepped forward, took his hand and shook it. Artemis and Eileithyia strolled in after her, with Hermes taking rear as he shut the door. Not, she noted, so courageous and smooth now.

“Dis,” she murmured; his eyes bore into hers at the mention of the old nickname, and he put his two hands on her shoulders but did not embrace her.

“Sit down, Era,” he offered; there were two couches but it was clear he meant for her to sit next to Persephone, and so she sat with his wife, who was…ridiculously large, and obviously uncomfortable. They were not close enough that she could reach out and feel her belly, and she felt sadness over that, but even being immortal there were certain actions that could not be taken back. She’d never get past the girl’s upbringing. Persephone’s eyes stayed on her for only a moment as she nodded, wariness obvious in her sharp eyes. Hera wasn’t sure if she was offended, to not be considered a threat. Perhaps she simply trusted her husband would do any fighting for her.

“Hermes,” Hades muttered, voice dark and deep and wholly unamused. “Seems to me you have brought considerably more people here than I asked you to bring.”

Hermes put both hands up, defensive. He opened his mouth, but Artemis, uncouth as she was, cut him off. “I ain’t lettin’ one of _her_ brood examine one of _us_ alone. She,” Artemis pointed squarely toward Hera, “ain’t been kind to us _bastards_ , Uncle, and ain’t no way that the crown you put on her head is gonna make her anything but a bastard to _her._ ” She jerked her eyes toward Eileithyia, who tepidly looked back, her inherited cow-brown eyes open wide with fear. “This one is just a lackey for her Mama, and that’s always been so. She gave my Mama a lot of sufferin’, you know. I’m just lookin’ out for your girl.”  

Hades’ eyes flickered toward her for only a moment; the expression was unreadable. She glared back, unwilling to look away or apologize. What she had done had been to defend her position. Dis knew her worth. “So you’ve come to offer a second opinion?” he murmured, which was the most tactful way to say that.

“Suppose you could say.” Artemis glanced toward Hermes, who purposely refused to meet her eyes. Cowards’ move, but the wiser long-term play. “Blame me if you wanna, for us all bargin’ in here. Was my idea, not his. But I ain’t here to harm you and yours.”

“I see.” His eyes flickered back to Hermes. “Dismissed, Hermes.”

“Oh, I’m also here on a social call.” Hermes smiled thinly. “Wanna meet my little nieces and nephews.” The unusual tension in his back suggested there was more to it than that; Hades wasn’t the only one who was protective of Persephone.

Hades glared at him, clearly unimpressed.

“Let him stay, Hades,” Persephone said softly. Her brother’s eyes went to hers, and Hera watched the wordless conversation; eyebrows raised, all but screaming _are you sure_. She countered with a nod,  a soft, almost imperceptible nod that said _I am sure_ in its own way. He tilted his head in her direction: _alright_.

“Alright,” he drawled, bringing the room back into the conversation.

Eileithyia took two steps forward; she was sweaty and visibly nervous. There was a pale golden-red to her light-brown cheeks, her coloring wan in the underworld light. Odd; Persephone had the same copper skin (of course she did; they had inherited it from the same damn father) and practically glowed.

“Uncle, can I….?” Eileithyia squeaked. Another invisible conversation: his head turned: _well darlin, that okay?_ She nodded:  _reckon it’s fine._ He opened his closed hand toward Eileithyia.

“Alright, sisters,” Persephone purred. “Suppose you two can both help me put that old worrywart’s mind at ease,” Hera noted with a brief fire that not only had she made her trueborn girl equivalent to two bastards as a point of commonality, but she made it plain she’d be accepting both midwives. Hades shook his head at Hera almost imperceptibly – _don’t_. She didn’t. She smiled at Persephone instead, her round cheeks the very picture of apples.

“Doubt that can be done,” Hera quipped. She leaned back on her side of the couch, looked around the room. Not a drink in sight. Supposed her brother had made quick work of the bars; she couldn’t begrudge Dis that. “Why don’t you and the girls find a bed to lay out on, Persephone? Best to be laying down for this kind of poking and prodding. I’d like to grab a moment to talk to my brother anyway.”

Hades looked at his wife and Hera once again watched the non-verbal conversation; Persephone frowned as he nodded toward Artemis and Eileithyia.

“But…” She put her hand on her belly; protective. “You wanted to do this with me.” He opened his mouth, shut it. Stupid Dis. Hera sighed; he was always the one who got tongue-tied easiest and wasn’t a surprise a daughter of quick-tongued Zeus could run circles around him. She reached out and put one hand on Persephone's arm and, _ah_ , there was her father in her there, too– her dust-storm eyes flashed with lightning, and Hera felt the storm coming.

But Hera had weathered many storms in her time.

“Not more than a few minutes, _anipsía_.” Calling Persephone her niece was both true and a bit of an insult, but it was what Persephone would expect of her. “I will not keep him from you. I know how momentous an occasion it is when a queen begets her husband’s heir.” She squeezed her hand. “A few minutes, nothing more.”

“We can wait for him,” Artemis huffed, her gruff voice attempting for comforting and failing miserably. “Just do the basic readings and get that thing out of the way. Then we'll be ready for him. Provided he doesn’t take a month or two.”

“I’ll fetch him,” Hermes’ eyes drifted toward her for only a moment, but it was long enough _._ _You’re the threat in the room,_ that little gaze said _._ “If he’s overlong.”

“Fine,” the little queen spat; she wasn’t pleased but she was clever enough to give in. Her gaze turned to Hades, visibly annoyed, and not bothering to hide it. “You gonna help me up or we gonna watch me imitate a damn heifer mooin’ around for a good half hour?”

A frown of irritation flashed on his face, replaced quickly with a straight neutral mouth but Hera had seen it and so had Persephone. Neither of them commented on it. He leaned forward and gently helped pull her up. His hand delicately cupped her cheek and he bent forward, a rare sign of public affection as he kissed her brow. “Be good.”

Even rarer seen, and easier to miss: the tight squeeze of her arms on his. She was worried, seeking reassurance. Odd. Hera saw that weakness, filed it away. The Queen of the Upside Down, the Patroness of Plenty, frowned. Her husband kissed her brow again. _Courage_ , he whispered, voicelessly, in the press of those lips. _Won’t be a moment._ Her eyes closed for the kiss, soft smile; _love._ But then the eyes snapped open, a glance between her husband and the woman sitting on her couch. _Distrust_. No, no trust in Dis at all; Hera smiled at her own private joke. She stood and Hades broke away from his wife. The girl's frown deepened.

“A moment,” she said, coolly, looking at Hera. “Not one second more.”

“Yes, yes.” She rolled her eyes. Hades nodded toward her, and Artemis and Eileithyia grabbed their sister’s no doubt swollen hands.

“Where’s the nearest bedroom?” Eileithyia asked, nothing but the softest of smiles on her face. “Hermes, can you help us take her there?”

Her daughter smiled sweetly, and Hera was so surprised she nearly fell over, but kept her face neutral. Her daughter glanced toward her out of the corner of her eye and smiled. Well. Let it not be said Eileithyia couldn’t play the game when she wanted to.

Cleverer girl than she’d thought. Her heart blossomed with pride.

“Of course,” Hermes said smoothly, though the frown on his face suggested he was sorry to miss the fireworks between Hades and Hera and get stuck with his three half-sisters instead. He held out his hand, and Persephone took it. She saw another brief and unspoken conversation there: Hermes’ raised eyebrows: _You really okay?_ A small half-nod from her: _I’m trying, brother, am I ever trying_.

And then they were gone, the two girls all but giggling over Persephone while all looked visibly ill at ease – but that was normal; more than two Gods in any location, everyone was ill at ease. She waited until they were gone before turning back to her brother, studying him for a moment more. Stars above, how cruel the Fates had been to him. He put his hands in his pockets, looking at her. He was, she thought, so _damn_ old. Looked older than _father_ had when – when they had last seen him.

“Well?” He asked. And wasn’t that just Dad, too: the stubbornly bent back when he was so visibly close to breaking. So many shadows; when had he last slept? When had he last ate? Did his wife even notice these things? Her heart bent in sorrow and frustration; they were stupid, all of them, Dis, and Don, and her husband-who-wasn’t-good-enough-to-be-named. She growled and grabbed him, tugged him into a stubborn hug he didn’t return, but didn’t throw her off him either.

“Dear brother,” she fussed. “Did your wife tell you that you are looking absolutely _horrid_ these days?”

He stiffened and shoved her away. “Ain’t never been concerned with that.” She scoffed and grabbed his sleeve again; he attempted to yank it away, and she refused to let him. Time was short. She would say her piece.

“Are you alright?” She said it soft, but he flinched like she struck him.

“What?” His voice was dark, deep; he had heard her but was pretending he hadn’t because this was pressing in a way he didn’t much like, pressing in the business of his realm, in his marriage, and he wanted to run away from it, deflect it. Might have worked on a younger or less attentive sister, but Hera had known him all his life and she could _feel_ the stress of it in him.

“I am _worried_ about you,” she hissed. She captured the distance between them and put one hand on his shoulder. “You know what I thought, coming here?”

“I cannot fathom,” he drawled, shrugging off her shoulder. He whirled and she saw knives in his eyes. His big jaw moved. “Nor do I care, nor do I think _you_ care….”

She bit back the temptation to hit him. He ignored the obvious displeasure in her eyes and smiled, but it wasn’t a nice one. This was Dis shouting _I’m taking control_. This was reflective anger and he bathed himself in self-righteousness. “If you ever cared about me, you'd have shown up some point before today.”

He whirled back and sat on the couch, refused to look at her. If Dis couldn’t run away, he’d ignore a threat until it disappeared, or until hiding wasn’t an option. And hiding was a warning, because she’d seen how he dealt with having his back to the wall and certainly had no desire to have her head cleaved from her shoulders. “We done? Don’t you have a new continent to remake in your image?”

She put both hands over his shoulders. He didn’t look up. She sighed. “And to think for so many years, I thought I had really messed up by not marrying you.”

That caught his attention; he looked up at her with a surprised gawp for half a second, then back to his place on the floor. “You never wanted me, Era. Don’t try this.”

“Not at first. Not with your face. That’s unfair to you, I know, but…I couldn’t. None of us could.” Even with his face turned away, she caught the wince he made. “We were all young and foolish then, _adelfós_. When you wound up here, we… thought it was meant to be.”

He tapped his fingers against his knee; _I’m damn irritated you’re bringing up this ancient history_ , that said, but his lips said nothing. “You pushed us all away. Locked the doors. By the time you poked your head out again, you’d already…well, you’d healed up the cracks, we’ll say.” _You glowered at us all like an asshole who resented not owning the place_ was what he’d actually done but telling him that didn’t help her in her attempt to sway him. _Politics._

“And then you saved me, once. Took an arrow for me, you remember?”

“Hm.” She took the seat next to him and gently folded one hand over his own, ceasing his irritated tapping. She slowly folded his hand in her own. “Zeus wouldn’t offer a hand, but you did. Do you still have the scar to show it?”

He jerked his head up and down roughly, once. _Get to the po_ int. She smiled and shook her head. “I saw you come up, spitting anger, and you saved me when Zeus could not be bothered to so much as raise his hand. I knew then that you were a good man, duty-bound. Spend about a decade trying to think of how to broach the subject, and by the time I had figured out how best to seduce you with an astute political argument – “there his lips quirked into a smile – “Well, you’d run away with the girl. And we both know you aren’t….him."

“What’s the point of this?” He asked; he tried to pull away but she clung tight – _I’m irritated_ , that said, even while flattered. That was Dis for you. Flatter him and he wanted nothing but for you to stop.

“That you have options. If you aren’t happy.” She squeezed his hands. Proper options, not just little two-bit starving children he lured in the streets.  She’d seen that and known that to be a worrying sign, too.

“Ain’t no _options_ ,” he said, quietly. “Not for me. Learned that the hard way. Sides, if it had been you and me?” He chuckled. “Wouldn’t be anyone else left alive by now.”

“No, we’ve always been ambitious, I suppose.” Both more like father, in that respect. “But you look unwell, Hades. And your sister worries for your health, for the record.”

“Noted.” Finality; he stood and it might as well have been a nail in the coffin. “We done?”

“Having children won’t solve any of your problems with her,” she said, pitying him, and his hardheadedness. He glared at her, the gaze piercing. Hera just shook her head. “It will only calcify them.”

“Ain’t your business,” he spit. “Nothing about _us_ is your business. Where do you get off, comin’ down here like this?” She rolled her eyes; she _was_ the goddess of marriage. He hadn’t taken advantage of her services when he’d decided to marry, that was true. Fell in love, somehow, all by his damn self. But she could see how his marriage was weighing on him now.

“Been in an unhappy relationship, you know,” she said, her chin held out stubbornly. “Been in one longer than you. I know the signs.”

“Want me to make you a medal?” Spitting now, angry; wasn’t seeing any sense. Started going towards the door.

“Stop.” She called out, and he paused, turned toward her, face iron-hard and ready to whack her like she was a stubborn light in one of his coal mines.

“Time’s up. You spent it foolishly.”

“Hades.” She speared him with her eyes and he stopped moving, staring back at her with his flinty eyes; it was enough. _I’ll listen_ , that hesitation read, even if everything else in his body looked like he wanted to fight. “I’ll keep it short, if you don’t want the nice version: those kids yours? Not that you won’t adopt them even if they aren’t, because we both know your sense of honor won’t let you do anything but fall upon that sword. But Eileithyia will want to use your blood if you _are_ the biological father, and it will be obvious to everyone in that room if you aren’t. And I know,” she said, raising her eyebrows, “that you are a _damn_ proud man.”

“Is that so hard to believe?” He asked, voice very soft. “That she and I could– “

“You have been married for a long time, brother. And you have no children. Not with her, and not outside of her. I am not the only one who would… wonder.”

He nodded, put his hands back in his pockets, and sighed. Said nothing else.

“She’s a lot like her mother. Sharp. Not too hard— “

“Enough.” His voice brooked no argument, but she made one anyway.

“To imagine—“

“Enough!” This time he turned away, strode toward the door. Wasn’t stopping. _Coward_ , she thought, and it wasn’t a strong move on the chessboard. Time to call a spade a spade. “She might want revenge for your little _songbird_ play. And this would be a particularly nasty way to get it. And I do _so hope_ you will forgive your sister for wanting to make sure you know you’re not _just_ a fool for this little _slip_ of a _girl_.”

He froze at the door, took a deep breath. Glared. She raised her eyebrows – _are you telling me it hasn’t occurred to you?_ He shook his head; _no_ , that said, though the flinch that immediately followed probably was closer to admitting _of course I have but I’ve repressed it quite well thank you_ in Dis’s body language, because he had always been a pessimist.

“She’s a better woman than you,” he muttered, the words said with nothing less than total disdain. “By a long shot.”

And then the door slammed, and she balled her fingers into fists. Stubborn man. Well, if he wanted the girl to run rough-shod over him, so be it. She took a deep breath to calm herself and followed, then realized hesitating even a moment for a breath was a mistake as she stared into a hallway full of doors: he’d expanded the hall to incorporate a larger foyer, but there were still doors, doors everywhere, and in the middle of it all, a stairway, with steps up and down.

And no way to tell which way he’d gone.

 _Shit_ , she thought. She took a few steps, stopped. Turned back. Was no longer sure which of the two doors she’d gone in that she’d passed already: the closest door to the wall? Or the second closest? _Shit shit shit_.

“Auntie,” came a voice, one that almost made her relax, even if to call her _auntie_ was a slight insult.

“Hermes.” She flashed a smile. “ _Anipsi_ _ós._ ” Two could play at that; he didn’t bridle at nephew.

“Not _bhateeja_?” He smiled, but there wasn’t much kind in it. “Was thinking from how Eileithyia was talking that you three had fallen in love with your new place.” He grabbed her shoulder, gently steering her. She didn’t ask if Hades sent him.

“He didn’t,” he murmured, reading her alarmingly easily. Hermes wasn’t of her blood, but he had the same talent for reading people. “Judging by how he slammed the door and started ordering reports, don’t think your little talk put him in a good mood, Auntie.”

“When has he ever been in one?” She said, and he snorted. “Thank you,” she said, quieter. She tapped his hand on her shoulder. “For—”

“I know. Artemis and Persephone, they might hold grudges. But I’m not that way, so you know.”

“Indeed.” She murmured; he pulled her across the hall, into _another_ hallway, then into another open door that led to _another_ hallway, and then finally into a bedroom – obviously a guest room, which wasn’t a surprise. Hades tended to keep his private rooms exactly that: _private_.

She saw him already there; his white hair made him damn easy to see in the crowd.  Hades had his hand on his wife’s and didn’t look up when Hera entered the room. Nothing worse than being ignored, of course, and that was exactly why he was doing it: declaring she wasn’t even worth his attention.

She edged a little closer, both wanting to be by a comforting presence – Eileithyia smiled at her, brilliant as she always was – and wanting to annoy Hades just a bit.

She sat on the other side of the girl, forcing Hermes to stand behind her. Persephone didn’t bother to glance toward her either, and she linked her hand with his; small statement there, but it spoke volumes, she thought.  She leaned her head toward him, and he rested his on her shoulder.

“Tell us,” he said, voice very soft.

Artemis gently ran her hands over her belly, but Hera didn’t pay attention to the way she moved, nor Eileithyia; they knew what they were doing. She kept her eyes on her brother.

“There’s a distance between them,” Artemis noted; she had her hands cupped over Persephone’s right side. “Not a lot of distress over space. Big for triplets already, though.” She glanced at Hades and frowned; Hera knew what she was thinking. “How far along again…?”

“Six months and one week, two days, and sixteen hours,” Hades said, and Persephone raised an eyebrow – _really? Your fool ass memorize when we do it?_ He shook his head slightly and kissed her forehead. “Easy to remember this time,” he muttered, so low she was sure he was thinking no one could hear it. She blushed, and Hera felt a pang of something old and long-neglected burn in her heart. Her husband had never been so interested in their children. Had accused Hera of making one of them all by herself, once; that had been an ugly row alright.

“You old romantic,” Persephone muttered, but the tone was warm.

“Big for their size and having three.” Artemis brought them back. “Could be a good thing or a bad one.”

“Girl, do not leave it like that.” Persephone snapped. “Tell me, sis, what you mean.”

“Well…” She pressed at her belly, gently frowned. “Not feeling much distress, so I wouldn’t worry much. Big is good, generally; means they’re growing, but….”

“Let’s have a closer listen,” Eileithyia said; she was fishing out a stethoscope and slowly jabbed it at Persephone’s skin. If it was cold – and she was sure it was – Persephone gave no indication of being bothered. Probably used to it, she thought, living down here with Dis.

“Heartbeat is good,” she said, then offered it to Artemis, a peace-keeping gesture. In her younger years, Hera might have protested that Eileithyia didn’t need to do it – but she kept silent as Artemis smiled, took it, and listened, moving the stethoscope from point to point.

“It is,” Artemis said. “Eileithyia speaks true, _there_.”

“So what’s the downside?” Typical Dis, rumbling up from the depths to focus on the downside.

“Could be tough labor. Could trigger earlier than you would with just one.”

“Early…” He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against hers. There was a history there; Hera could see it, see it in the sudden tightness in Persephone’s back, in the glare in her eyes, in the slump of his neck. She jerked him off her shoulder:  _Don’t,_ that expression said. Her hands went into fists.

“That’s not insurmountable.” Eileithyia chirruped. “Lots of babies born early. You were born early, right Sephie?”

Persephone gave her a glare that suggested she did not enjoy the nickname. She did not relax.

“That’s right,” Hera said, placing her hand on Persephone’s tight fist. “Born a week early, and just fine.” That she had _hated_ the girl was born early seemed not to matter anymore. Persephone glanced at her, a filthy look in her eyes, as if she could recall how Hera had howled at it, though she doubted she could. Perhaps Demeter had passed it down, passed it down as a cautionary tale just as Hera had passed the madness of her father down to her own children. _Look out for that one. That dragon breathes fire._

“How – how early?” He asked; his voice was barely a croak.

“It’s rare for such a pregnancy to go over thirty-six weeks in a mortal. We don’t have a rulebook here, but you might be able to keep it a little longer, especially since it’s her first pregnancy.” Hades head went all but _into_ her shoulder, and she heard a very soft groan. “But odds are better than not it will be somewhere between your eighth month and your ninth, or a bit sooner. Isn’t that much different, for our kind, then the humans. Least in that part.” Eileithyia stepped nimbly around the mess of people and gently touched her Uncle’s shoulder.

He whipped up to look at her, snake-eyes pin-pricks of _dark,_ merciless black.

“It will be alright.” Eileithyia smiled. “They are very healthy, so much as we can tell. Strong children from strong parents, is that not so?”

Neither of the parents moved. Hera frowned; there was a story there, but she didn’t dare to poke the hornet’s nest again.

“It is so,” Hera said, quietly, a peacekeeping gesture. “It is so.”

Hades glanced toward her for the first time, eyebrows up – and nodded. “Very strong mother,” he said. “Very strong.”

The look on the girl’s face was unreadable; the frown did not disappear. But she squeezed his hand, and that, Hera knew, was not nothing.

“Do you want to hear them?” Artemis had seen the upset look on his face too, and both were scrambling to try to set his mind at ease.

He nodded, though the furrow of his brow suggested he was more than a little torn on it. He put it in his ears – and looked utterly ridiculous – but listened, eyes closed, lips half-open as Eileithyia gently moved it around Persephone.

“There,” she cooed. “And – there?” A nod from Artemis. “And there.”

“Oh,” he said, before giving a sharp intake of breath. He yanked it off his ears with surprising speed before throwing it over to Persephone. “Please…” He let the request go unsaid; odd.

“You too?” Eileithyia asked; a short nod, curt, and nothing else. Eileithyia frowned by repeated the motions, slowly moving from one to the other as Persephone closed her eyes.

“That’s …” He kissed her hand. “That’s it. That’s ours.”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded far away. “Yes.” Her husband leaned into her; brushed a hand over her brow in an uncharacteristic kind gesture. He’d be good at this, she thought; better than his brother, at least.

“Can we stop it from being early?” He asked. “Is there any way to….?”

“They’ll come when they come.” Artemis glanced at Eileithyia, her eyes narrowed. “Unless _someone_ doesn’t allow them, forcing their mother to _struggle_ and one of them to nearly _drown_ in the–“

Eileithyia blanched. “I was only a girl –“

“Girls,” Hera said sharply. “Drop it.” To Persephone, she shook her head. No point in getting into these fights about the past; Hera could not change it, any more than Artemis could. And little point in holding a grudge when Artemis’ whorish mother both lived and thrived, like Persephone’s stubborn old goat-slut of a mother both lived and thrived. “These things take the time they will take.”

“But no sex,” Eileithyia chipped in. “That can speed it up. No spicy foods, either.”

“We can do that,” her brother said, a bit _too_ quickly; Persephone’s cheeks were a brighter, golden color than just his instant agreement might bode. She wondered if there was a good reason her brother might know their concept to the hour. Wouldn't be the first marriage that had a love-life wither on the vine. 

“Not at all?” She grabbed his hand, an attempt at a united front. “I have a husband who ain’t seein’ the bottom half of me half the year ‘round as it is.” The words were growled out, without shame. There was Demeter in the girl, coarse and demanding as ever. The fact that he certainly had been getting his _time – and a bit more –_ did not get commented on.

“Nothing that would erm…” Eileithyia giggled, “be vigorous.”

“Vigorous, huh,” Hermes said, quiet enough that she was pretty sure he was just out of ear-shot for Hades. He’d been quiet this whole time, and she wondered if that was him trying to worm his way back into his uncle’s better graces.

“Enough,” Hades muttered.

There was a private conversation between them then; her lips pouted: _I’m trying to do this for you, idiot._ He shrugged: _I don’t need it._ She raised an eyebrow: _I might._  He shrugged again; she shook her head. _Drop it for now_. Hera had gotten that one enough from her own husband to know what that nod meant.

“If,” Persephone said, casually, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “If a woman had given birth before, would it change the likelihoods…? Add any dangers…?”

Hera glanced at them both, struggling not to ask any questions. Hades’ eyes were on the midwives, so were his wife’s. But the look in both those eyes – fear – made her wonder if they had gone through this before.

And if they had, _oh_. Oh, no.

“But that’s not your –” Eileithyia, once again failing to read the room, frowned. “Your situation.”

“Could be the next time this one decides to give me a three-in-one special.” She scratched Dis’ beard in a way that Hera suspected no one else in the room could get away with and live. “He’s _efficient_ , you know.” He had the good grace to look embarrassed at that, but Persephone barreled past it, as she so often did. “And I want to know. For the – for the future.”

A guarded look passed between them: _think they bought it_? in the quirk of her lip. He gave her a slight nod: _good effort_.

Yes, they’d lost one before. And how, Hera didn’t know, and she wondered, but there was no mistaking that.

“Probably quicker,” Artemis said. “Your labor, again baring outside – “

“Please!” Eileithyia shrieked, and Artemis shrugged. “Well. You know. If your first children come early, the next will likely be early too. Though I’d advise you, Uncle, to keep it to one child, if you can. In the future. Perhaps this is more efficient but it’s certainly going to be hard on Sephie.”

Dis nodded, as if he could control a damn thing about the situation at all. Hera wanted to ask, badly: _What happened? When did you lose a child? How did none of us know?_ But she knew, too, that he would not tell her, the stubborn old ass. And getting something out of the girl, well—that ship had sailed, Hera knew, the moment she’d called Persephone’s mother what she was.

“One more thing. I want you to test them.” He glanced between the two midwives. “Are they god blooded?”

“That’s…not a great idea.” Eileithyia flickered her eyes between them both, desperately seeking a social cue that Persephone wasn’t providing, her face carefully blank. “Uhm, you’d need blood from mom and dad and …” She glanced at her mother. “And…uhm…”  
  
“With two godly parents, it isn’t…isn’t really in doubt.” Artemis said. A better liar, but to be expected; her mother had certainly been fond of lying, too.

Hades, in response, rolled up his sleeve and glared at them both. And Hera understood, too, what he was doing; that he was in his own way making a political play, sacrificing his pride for eliminating doubt. Or perhaps, he too, simply wanted to know.  Perhaps doubt had prayed upon him as well; she could not blame him.

“Do it,” Persephone said. “If he wants it, do it.”

“Alright,” Artemis said, though the look she shot her suggested more _you’re nuts_ than _what a sensible decision._

Eileithyia pulled out her needle and thread. “It will hurt a bit.”

“Do it,” Hades said, simply. Hera knew it wouldn’t even be the worst ache he’d dealt with in the past hundred years, not with the way he looked. She pierced his thumb, slowly pulling the needle through and emerging with thread dyed gold with blood. She snipped the thread, still wet, and made a face. Artemis offered him a bit of gauze; he took it and applied it himself.

“Mama, your turn,” she muttered.

Persephone held out her hand, and she repeated the gesture. Eileithyia hunched over, winding the threads together with a quick but determined hand. She draped the threads on Persephone’s belly, and all eyes watched.

“Any red, there’s some mortal in there,” Eileithyia said. “If it turns black or burns, they’re rejecting the blood offering. So you know. Too young to accept it from anything that ain’t close to their own make-up.” She looked at her uncle as he said it; he nodded. Didn’t look worried about it, to his credit. Persephone still just kept her eyes on the damn thread, unreadable. So did everyone else, as Eileithyia slowly waved it over her belly.

The thread stayed gold. Hera leaned forward, expecting flecks of black to catch and burn.

It stayed gold. Eileithyia frowned and did it twice more. “I’ll be damned,” Hermes muttered under his breath, and might have been, had Hades himself not been staring so keenly at the thread.

Well.

“Congratulations,” she said, staring at her niece, but meant entirely her brother. His eyes met hers, and he nodded. “You must be proud.”

“ _We_ are,” Persephone said, and gave her a grin that was not quite polite. _Thought I was a whore, huh?_ That smile said. _Eat crow_ _._

“Yes,” he said, with a warble that suggested a slight modicum of relief. “We are.”

“I think that’s it for now,” Artemis said. “Now it’s just a matter of time and luck. I can come back in a month if— ”

“Me too!” Eileithyia said. “Sissie needs us both.”

“Sissie needs a _damned_ nap,” Persephone said; the mouth on her certainly hadn’t improved since the last time she saw her. 

“Yes,” Hera said and took a chance to tap the girl on the shoulder. “Rest is always good for a mother-to-be.” She glared over at Hades as well. “And a father-to-be, as well.”

He said nothing to her; she wasn’t entirely sure he had even heard her, as he kept his eyes on his wife. He was still fond of her, Hera thought, or perhaps simply afraid; losing one child, she imagined, was hard. Losing four would be unbearable, and she did not think their fragile marriage would survive it.

“One more thing, though,” Persephone said, and to Hera’s surprise, the underworld’s queen turned toward her. “I wanna talk to you. Alone.”

“Absolutely not,” Hades said. And Hera, in truth, would be happy of that ruling. She did not protest it.

“I don’t think I was asking _you_ ,” Persephone said, leaning over to him. “ _A few minutes, nothing more_.”

“But love— ”

“What am I going to do to her?” She snorted. “Can’t even get up off this bed without struggling for thirty minutes.”

The look in her eye suggested she wasn’t going to give up the idea of this audience. Hera sighed.

“A few minutes, Hades. I will see her.”

“You can wait outside,” Persephone said. “Go ahead and pace at the door if you gotta.”

She thought the girl was joking, but the dark look in his eyes suggested she wasn’t. He nodded once, and she blinked as Persephone reached forward and pulled him to her, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

A strange pair, Hera thought. They deserved one another.

He nodded, stiffly, and then he left them. He glanced back once more at the door, and Persephone gave him a shoo gesture. “Go,” she said.”I’ll be fine.”

He flickered his eyes back to Hera, who nodded at him.  She would be.

The door shut with a quick and deafening thud.

“So,” Hera said.  What did you want to speak to me about?”

“What did you ask him about? “She asked, jerking her head toward the door. “What ain’t I allowed to hear in my own damned house, Hera?”

“I’m worried about him, Hera said plainly. No need to lie when the truth was worse. He is younger than me by a good twenty thousand years, yet he looks older than us all. He is suffering. I wanted to make sure he was – “

“He's stressed. A lot happening around these parts. He’ll get better.”  She ran a hand over her belly. “He will.”

“Will he?” Hera said calmly, watching Persephone’s fingers struggle with re-tying her dress. “Think he’s likely to obey the six-month edict when it’s his kids and his wife, up there without him?”

“Actually? The children will be staying with him, thank you for your concern.”  She smoothed down the address; an attempt to look unflappable that wasn’t quite working. “Let’s drop it. This wasn’t entirely what I wanted to speak to you about.”

Hera looked at her, rightfully annoyed at her sweeping Dis aside.  She narrowed her eyes. “What did you  do to the girl?” Hera asked, purposefully throwing her off. Persephone stumbled.

“What?”

“The songbird he was singing to. I know my brother and I know his slights.  He wouldn’t do that if he wasn’t driven—” She twisted the knife.

“I drove him to _nothing_.” Persephone spit. “And I did _nothing_. We’ve gotten past that girl, and that girl has gotten past being here. That’s what I’ll say of it to you.”

She nodded. Persephone sighed. “Look, I know I ain’t your favorite. But I need a favor and it’s for his sake as much as mine that I’m asking. We don’t have much time.”

“Speak, then,” she said. Persephone adjusted herself, sitting high so she could glare down at her. She wasn’t that tall, the little thing – though at least she had avoided her Mama’s stoutness. Still, she was clearly trying to make every inch count.

“Eileithyia’s the goddess of childbirth,” she said, slowly. “But you used to be, first, right? And if you asked Eileithyia to do something, well, she’d do it. Like she did with Leto.”

“I suppose that is true.” And in her younger years, she’d enjoyed watching the woman moon about, miserable.

“And you are the goddess of marriage aside,” Persephone said, with considerable effort in her voice to keep neutral. “Know I didn’t go to you for my marriage, know he probably didn’t either. Obvious you ain’t exactly blessed the union.”

“I never cursed you, or him.” They’d done quite well at finding a way to make their married lives miserable without her.

“Hm, well.” She rubbed her belly. “Is there any way you can – can help them? Keep them in? Let them be born…born safely? Alive?” She tried to say it casually, but didn’t really succeed; the bite on her lip all but gaze her away as trying to put on a brave front.

“I’m…” She closed her eyes and gently put a hand on Persephone’s shoulder; she stared at it as if it were an alien being. “I can give you my deepest well-wishing, but it isn’t in my power to shorten a woman’s labor, or stop it entirely. Some things are…natural. I understand your worries, given that you’ve lost a child before…”

Persephone’s eyes darted up to her face, scanning for hints of information. “He tell you that?”

“He didn’t need to. You wouldn’t have asked about it if you hadn’t had a reason to.” She squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “Neither of you has ever been as subtle as you’ve thought you are.”

Persephone gave a short _hah_. It was not full of mirth.

“Was it…?”

“Stillborn. It was…difficult.” She glanced toward the door. “It almost killed him. That’s why I can’t…”

“I will do what I can.” Hera withdrew, standing; this wasn’t gossip she felt comfortable with, the vulnerability of a queen she’d long expected to maintain, at best, a cold neutrality towards. “It may not be much. I will make sure Eileithyia does as well, though I will keep the details from her, as I am sure Dis prefers. But if we could delay such things more than a few hours, at best, well – my dear, you simply wouldn’t be here.”

It was a mistake to bring that up, and she knew it as soon as Persephone’s face fell. “I know what my mother did to you,” Persephone said. “And for years, I never understood how much it hurt. I know now how _damn_ much it hurts. But I wasn’t really involved in that, not in any way – and if you are gonna hold it against these kids for being his grandchildren,” She glared up at her, a new fire in her eyes. “I will see you regret it.”

“I would not be here if I did, nor would I promise to help you in as much as I hold the capacity to do so.” She smoothed down the girl’s hair, a mothering instinct she hadn’t bothered to ever quite do with the girl before. Her hair was a mix of her father’s coloring and her mother’s curls, and the texture was quite different from that of her own daughter’s smooth, black hair. “I regret how I treated you all, but hindsight is always clearer than at the moment.”

They were both quiet a long moment then. “If that is all…?” she murmured, and Persephone’s stormy eyes snapped back to her.

“One more thing.” She leaned back on the bed, her eyes closed. Whatever she was going to ask, it was uncomfortable – but then any conversation between them was that. “He can tell when people will die, you know. I see it too, sometimes; a sort of sixth sense. Do you get that with marriages? Some magical way to tell if things will be alright, or if they're goin' belly up?”

“There is no such thing.”

She snorted. “Well ain’t you full of great news. Might as well have let him stay. Seems like all that I’m missin’ is his damn fussin.”

“The future is mostly unknown. To us all. That, I think, is a blessing and a curse.” She shrugged her shoulders. Certainly, she would not have stayed with Zeus so long, knowing what she knew now about his complete inability to commit to one house, one home. “He is a broken man and if you are unhappy….” She shrugged. “You can leave. There are ways.”

“No, he ain’t that.” She shook her head, a half-smile on her face. “Got his faults, not least among them the fact he can’t let me out of his sight without demanding me to come right back. But it ain’t an easy thing, to be left behind. Or to leave. Neither is easy at all. Don’t make him broken.”

“Marriage never is.” She glanced toward the door. “I am sorry I cannot do more. For him or for you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She said, but the slump of her shoulders suggested exhaustion more than anything else. “We’re done. I’ve said what I want to say. Thanks for hearing it out. I’d appreciate if it stays…?”

“Of course. A prayer to a goddess is always confidential, is it not?” She smiled. “I thank you for allowing my daughter and I into your home. And I do truly wish you the best of luck.”

Persephone nodded and didn’t say much else; Hera opened the door and – there he was. Certainly wasn’t into giving her space; she’d have killed him, Hera thought, if she’d married him all those years ago. He barely nodded at her as he rushed past, grabbing the seat he’d vacated and held her hand. She turned back just before the door shut, and found a soft smile on his face as he kissed her hand, eyes sparkling; he put his free hand over her belly and the girl dared to smile too, and Hera _hoped_ for them. She’d never been the most charitable of goddesses, especially to some bastard-whelp, but – well, there were exceptions. Dis deserved a spot of happiness. Perhaps the girl did too.

“You ready for the midnight train out?” Hermes asked, putting an arm out for her to take hold of. Artemis and Eileithyia were gone, no doubt heading back to the station already. “You lookin’ like you’re fixed to start a fight, Auntie. Please don’t try twisting Persephone’s arm….”

“Who's fighting?” She bristled, and threw off Hermes’ arm. “Just – just surprised, that’s all. To see them like that.”

“It is their house.” He spared a glance towards the now closed door. “Been the first winter in a long time I’ve found them both in the same room most of the time, though. I hope it works out,” he said, soft. “Feels like we keep telling this kind of story too many times.”

“I hope it works out for them, too,” she said, turning around. “We’ve started running out of continents to spread the family out on.”

He chuckled but it was a sad one, and it was true. Demeter had taken North America, and Hera, Asia. Who knew what Dionysus was doing in Central America, or what Artemis was doing in the Yukon? Athena had taken over a startling variety of countries but never seemed to stay in one long, growing bored whenever one seemed to attain superpower status. Ares remained camped out in Russia when he wasn’t in Olympus. And even Zeus, who had always gone where he pleased, well – he hadn’t bothered to see Hera except for the centennials and he’d been compelled for those. At the last one, he’d only bothered to talk business. And that had hurt. She wondered how long it would be until he simply nodded at her from the corner of the room.

But that wasn’t something she’d share with Hermes.

“Let’s go,” she snapped. “I’m tired of this place.”

“As you wish,” he said, smooth as silk. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the train; Hera didn’t stumble as she scrambled on board. Eileithyia and Artemis had grabbed the couch, were surprisingly talking shop with abandon, though Eileithyia stopped when her mother entered the private car.

Artemis started to stand, and Hera brushed her shoulder with her hand. Maybe it wasn’t entirely too late. “You can have the seat. I can live sitting with Hermes.”

Hermes looked a bit petulant, his lip drawn into a pout, but he knew better than to protest. “Don’t stop on my account,” she said, and despite all the aching in her ancient bones, she hopped up on the desk and held out a hand for Hermes, who squeezed in behind her.

She let the girls chatter – and Hermes’ occasional witty bon mot – carry them forward, but she did not relax until she found herself back in the sunlight. The whole way back, she hoped in as much as she could for old Dis and his bride.

When the sun filtered over her shoulders, she thought it the most beautiful thing she had beheld in a long time. When her daughter touched her shoulder, she clung to her tight, and neither commented on if it was a bit more than usual.

“Let’s go, _maan_ ,” Eileithyia said.

And she smiled. Children, she thought, might not save a marriage, but she was happy to have her daughter by her side.

Perhaps if things worked out well enough, Dis would be satisfied with that as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love always to FrenchToastandSourdough for helping me proofread.
> 
> Eileithyia - The goddess of childbirth, and Hera and Zeus' daughter. In Hadestown-times, lives with her mother and Hebe in India.  
> Hera - Queen of Heaven, Hades' sister, Persephone's step-mother. She has a difficult relationship with Persephone, Hermes, and Artemis, as they are all children of her husband with other women, and most are contemporaries with her own children. Moved out of Olympus out of frustration with her failing marriage; she and Zeus see one another, but rarely, and mostly for business. Tried to have all her children move with her, but only Eileithia and Hebe came with her.
> 
> Artemis - The goddess of the hunt and of the moon; a friend of Seph and Hermes. In Hadestown times in this fic, she lives in the Yukon.
> 
> Hebe - Eileithyia's sister, Hera and Zeus's daughter, cupbearer to the gods  
> Apollo - Artemis' twin brother, and God of Medicine, the Sun, the Arts, and more.  
> Maan - Eileithyia calls her mother the hindu word for mom, a force of habit made out of living apart in India for so long.  
> the expert at multiple births - Artemis is referring to her own birth; Hera tortured her mother by not allowing her to give birth and when poor Leda was finally allowed to do so, Artemis came out first and divinely helped her mother deliver her baby brother Apollo despite being a newborn herself!  
> the messy welding marks on that desk - Hades broke it off the wall in a previous chapter  
> Zeus' lighting - Zeus doesn't like that his brother has figured out how to harness electricity for his own ends.  
> Dis - another of Hades' names; in this fic's universe, a nickname used among his siblings, as seen in a previous chapter  
> peacock feathers - peacocks are Hera's sacred animal and she loved them so much she had a peacock garden on Olympus! The common peacock is very common in (and native to) the Indian SUbcontinent and is celebrated in Hindu belief systems, as it was in Greece.  
> betee - Hindu for daughter (also romanized Beti); Hera, too, is opting for her new land over her roots.  
> Leuke - In mythology, Hades' first lover, a water nymph. She died, and Hades built a tree in her honor. In this fic universe, she is Hades' first relationship and one that ended very abruptly when she died during the war. He found her again, after inheriting the underworld, but, well... It was not a happy reunion, let's say.  
> grandfather’s voice - Hera and Hades' grandfather is Uranus, the god of the skies.  
> Her dress was an old and ugly beige, homespun thing - Persephone is still wearing one of her mom's old dresses mentioned in a previous chapter  
> Era - Hades' childhood nickname for Hera  
> Eileithyia's "cow-brown eyes" - She's inherited Hera's eyes, whose face is frequently described as "cow-eyed"  
> anipsía - Greek for niece; its the further relationship she can call Persephone, who is technically also her step-daughter (through Zeus) and her sister-in-law (through Hades). (Family relationships in Greek mythology are complicatedddddd.)  
> adelfós - Brother  
> took an arrow for me - Hera and Hades are briefly alluded to having fought against Hercules at Pylos in the Iliad; Hades took an arrow to the arm and had to go to Olympus to get it healed. Why they were fighting together, Homer doesn't mention, and I've added in some backstory here of my own.  
> songbird play - a reference to Eurydice. Hera keeps her eyes on Hades and Poseidon when they go to unexpected places. Hera gets Hades' reaction to her accusation Seph might have cheated wrong, but given that she can't see _everything_ , she's not privy to their attempts to reunite.  
> Anipsiós/bhateeja - Greek and Hindi for nephew, respectively. Hermes and Hrea are keeping one another at a bit of a distance, relationship-wise, but not impolitely so.  
> god blooded - Gods have ichor; humans have blood, and half-gods like Orpheus have a bit of both. Hades wants to know if the kids are god-blooded because his only born son was born dead, ie born mortal; he wants to know if there's a chance these children, too, have some sort of mutation that leads them to being mortal; he also wants everyone in the room to know they're his, after Hera accused his wife.  
> Dionysus - A half-brother of Seph's, the god of wine. In Hadestown times, camped out in Central America where he is setting up more than a few wineyards....  
> Athena - A half-brother of Seph's and goddess of war; in Hadestown times, a constant mover and shaker who enjoys leading nations to glory -- but is often restless.
> 
> Ares - another half-brother of Seph's and a god of war; he enjoys Russia in Hadestown-era because it's constantly embroiled in conflicts.


	18. Almost, but Not Quite [30. Kiss under a Full Moon]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Persephone wasn’t a girl who was prone to patience, and that was a problem, given that the last thing that her soon-to-be-husband had told her was to wait for him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in classical greek times, about a month past [Proposal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/46951462).
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Warnings: Some heavy petting and fingering; some very minor, canon-typical violence

Persephone wasn’t a girl who was prone to patience, and that was a problem, given that the last thing that her soon-to-be-husband had told her was to _wait for him_.

She smoothed down her _peplos_ , squinting out into the garden as night was falling; she’d hoped said future husband might come today, hoped Hades might tell her what Pa had said about their bid to marry. It was the same thing she’d been hoping for weeks, and he wasn’t making it any easier with forcing her to wait like this. It was consuming her, this wait, and was fast becoming a source of daydreams; after a few days, she started thinking about how he’d kiss her cheek. Now she was thinking about how if he finally came up from under the ground, maybe, if they timed it just right, they’d do a hell of a lot more.

Now she had known, from the first time she’d pulled Uncle Hades’ lips down to hers, that he was a man who ran on a slower sundial. And that was fine; she didn’t get it, but she liked his _intensity_ , the way he _took his time_. But now he was takin’ too much time, and she wasn’t sure just what she was supposed to do about it.

 _Wait for me_ , he’d said, and the problem was this: she’d thought he’d meant an hour or two. Not days, or weeks, as it had been, but that was his problem, Uncle Hades: he was a passionate man, but he was a _think forever, do once_ sorta fellow, the sorta man that only made his moves at the exact right time. And sometimes, that was a good thing; he’d driven her half-mad in kissin’ sometimes, half-sweet and half-wicked, all slow-boiling and all-consuming in their little stolen moments. And the last time, when he’d kissed _other_ places with his mouth - she shuddered. That was a mighty distracting thought and Persephone let it run through her mind, even knowing it was a bit dangerous to be thinking about with Ma around. The last thing she should do was give away how lovey-dovey inside he was makin’ her feel.

Ma said something to her as she closed the gate, but Persephone was thinking only of Hades, his mouth, the way his eyes had lit up as he’d made her tremble.

“Girl.” Ma snapped her fingers in front of her face, disrupting the fantasy. “ _Kore_.”

She shook her head, startled. “What?” No way to get out of this now; Ma only called her _Kore_ when she knew Persephone had sailed so far away on her imagination, she was nowhere near a continent of anything Ma was talkin’ about.

“You alright, child?” Ma threw her arm around Persephone and turned her back toward the kitchens, where Ma was no doubt brewing some delicious meal or another. She smothered her annoyance at being called a child, but it wasn’t the only discontentment in her.  She couldn't spare a last glance to the garden — that would raise questions, questions Persephone had no interest in answerin’ until her union with Hades was well and truly sealed — but she wanted to, the compulsion almost overwhelming. She wanted him to be there. Wanted it so bad she was about ready to say _screw it all_ and run away downstairs to well…screw someone, at any rate.

“You’ve been starin’ out there every day this week, Kore. You expect …company?” Ma’s voice was thick with danger, and Persephone sucked in a deep breath before she could stop herself from doing so.

“No, Ma,” the response there was instantaneous. “No. Just watching the gardens.  It’s different sometimes, the day and the night, and in the in-between times, I think I can sense both sides of the garden, for just a minute.” To anyone else, it would be a ridiculous statement, but it was true, and Ma – well if anyone understood her love of plant life, it was Ma. She just wasn’t tellin’ Ma about the distraction beyond that, and that wasn’t really a lie, just a little…omission.

“That so?” Ma snorted and smiled. “Honestly, I’d rather you be interested in the scent of the strawberries than play around with your father’s children, especially that younger one of Maia’s. I know you’re not of the mind to get in trouble the way Hebe has, but that Hermes is such a scoundrel.”

“He’s alright, Ma,” she said. “Pa wouldn’t have put him in charge of everybody’s messages if he thought he was a bad kid.” Ma mouthed off a reply, something about her Pa not having enough sense to muck out a barn, but Persephone didn’t pay much attention. Hermes, several years her junior, had his own position in the pantheon. And didn’t it just rankle that Pa and Maia thought Hermes, the prankster of Olympus, was mature enough to have his role in Olympian government, and Persephone, Demeter’s only daughter, and Pa’s first-born child, wasn’t even worth being declared an adult yet.

Despite havin’ lived longer than Hermes by _three whole years_. And it had been like that for everyone – ‘Thena, Heph, Artemis, Apollo; they’d all gotten titles and jobs and parties that marked them as adults and here Persephone was, two decades down, which was forever long, and what were she to the whole wide world? _Kore_. Girl. Not even worth her own name.

Only Hades ever saw her as a damn adult. Least when she was his lady — his good and proper _lady_ — they’d take her seriously, then. Wouldn’t have no choice not to; what were they going to do, deny her adulthood even swollen with his baby? A child couldn’t have a damn child.

Then again, by the time he finally came back, she might be grey haired at this rate. And if things didn’t change mighty quick, she still probably wouldn’t have a title of her own, a job of her own. She’d just be Demeter’s daughter, still minding ma’s pumpkins as an ancient old crone.

“What did you want to talk about, Ma? Earlier?”, she said, cutting off Ma’s tirade about how Hermes was just one of Pa’s many poor appointments as of late. Ma was still sore Pa hadn’t allowed them to bring Arion last time they were up on Olympus, punishing uncle Posey for some spat or another. Always was that way between them, and she was sure it wasn’t gonna change. She felt bad for Arion, but that was Pa’s way: playin’ politics, makin’ sure no one was gonna knock him down off his place on top. Arion was easy to exclude on account of not bein' Pa's son, but Persephone doubted it would matter much, in the end, if it were her in his hooves; Pa would play her just the same if he had to.

Course, if Hades would hurry his damn ass up, she wouldn’t be under Pa’s control again. Marrying into Hades' estate meant checkin’ out of Olympus, and considering the vicious sniping between everyone there – well, she was glad she wasn’t gonna live there. Persephone couldn’t even imagine how suffocatin’ it had to be someone like ma or Hera, where every facial expression they made was gossiped about and every move they made was interpreted several times over on an old chessboard.

“Ah!” Ma smiled at her in a particularly crafty way, the way she only did when she wanted Persephone to follow some plan of hers or another. When she was a younger girl, Persephone had loved her Ma’s little plans — Ma had always been easy with the praise, kind with the rewards. Now, though, she knew that every one of Ma’s carefully developed plans was marchin’ her toward a future she didn’t want: Auntie Hes’ little lackey, keepin’ her fires burnin’ and her yarn untangled, the monotony of her homelife broken up only by brief tea-times with Artemis and Athena. She’d wish for mortality, that kind of life, and she knew Ma wanted it for her because it was safe but Persephone, well, she ain’t never had a taste for _safe_.

“Yes, Ma?” She said, closing her hand into a fist. Hades was coming, sooner or later; he was a man of his word and he’d given his word and he had said _she would be his wife._ “What’s going on?”

“Well,” Demeter beamed. “It’s a very special favor I need to ask of you.”

Persephone bit back a sigh. Ma’s _special favors_ were almost always _monotonous_ _chores_. “Yes, Ma?”

“Well, you know how your birthday’s coming in a week, and we’ll be havin’ a big old party on account of it being…” Ma’s voice caught. “Well, you’ll be all grown up. And you know it falls, this year, well just when your Ma takes her harvest-sleep, and well —” Persephone’s heart sped up at the hint. Ma was usually, like Hades, someone who never slept but for a few times a year, and if this was one of those times, she could — she could — she thought of Hades, naked and eager, mouth buried between her legs. She could do a _lot_ in the time ma was down, and she wouldn’t be none the wiser.

“Yeah, Ma?” She said, and if her voice wobbled a bit, well, Ma didn’t comment. Hopefully, she thought Persephone was just a bit nervous.

“I was thinking I might try to take my sleep tonight. Your brother’s out with his Pa, and you well — do you think you can run the gardens for the rest of the day, and perhaps tomorrow morning? All by yourself?”

Persephone had been working in the gardens, all by herself or otherwise, since she was able to toddle into them. She bit back the urge to roll her eyes, and nodded. “’Course, Ma. Get some sleep.” She would wait ‘til Ma was asleep, she would, and then she’d tuck on down to the underworld. No, she thought, she’d call Hades up; couldn’t trust Ma wouldn’t wake up early and go lookin’, and it was safer if he’d come to her. He would surely; he’d come every time he could nip away and she was alone, stolen plenty of her mornings just kissin’ and smilin’ in the meadows. She’d get Hermes in on it, Hermes could lure her soon-to-be husband up; he went down to the underworld sometimes and Hermes owed her for a million favors — she’d make him swear to secrecy and she’d make him bring Hades and then —

Then she’d know _how long_. How damned long he expected her to wait ‘fore he swept her off her feet. And how long it’d take ‘til she could tell Ma about him, because that was going to be a real fire-storm of a conversation and she was dreadin’ the thought of Ma findin’ out even a second before Persephone had his ring on her finger.

Oblivious, Ma kissed her brow. “That’s my girl,” she said, as if Persephone was a just a little thing, barely entrusted with knowing the wheat from the barley. “I’m so proud of you.” Persephone rolled her eyes. Ma never would see her as a damn woman; if it weren’t for Pa tellin’ her Persephone’s lack of adulthood had become right embarrassin’, Persephone was pretty sure Ma would treat her like a six-year-old forever. And still might, Pa be damned.

“No instructions this time,” Ma said, a wide smile on her face as she kissed each of her daughter’s cheeks. “You’ll have to take charge, but I’m confident you’re ready for it.”

 _Been ready for years_ , she thought. “Thanks Ma,” she said. “You goin’ now?”

“Not yet,” Ma said, chuckling. “We’ll sup first. You’re not getting rid of me that quick, _Kore_.”

“I wouldn’t dream of wanting to, Ma,” Persephone said, while scheming all the while on how to do exactly that. She liked living with Ma, she did, she well and truly did, but the thought that floated through her mind wasn’t about Ma at all.

_How long? How long? How long?_

* * *

Persephone waited for a good half-hour after Ma fell asleep before calling Hermes; Hermes would come, she knew, because Persephone had never called on him in an official capacity, and Hermes liked novelty almost as much as he liked making trouble. Still, there was a tightness in her belly as she wrote out her note, short and sweet but unmistakable in its intent _\- come to our meadow, I want to see you, tonight_ –   _P_. She kept it short, so Hermes wouldn’t get much out of it; he was a gossip and was always a chance he would decide to try to sniff out her business.

And this was one piece of _business_ she didn’t want sniffed out, not just yet. She’d barely finished sealing it with a bit of Ma’s wax when Hermes feathers scrapped her door. She stood and opened the door to meet him, grin on her face.

“Sister!” He called out with his big shark-grin; he wasn’t one of uncle Posey’s boys, but he was as crafty as Uncle Posey or Pa, and that grin was proof of it, Persephone thought. “Late night call, sister. This mean you’ve decided to run away with me?” He said it as a joke, but she wasn’t sure it was really a joke. Hermes had always been a bit soft on her when they were kids; bein’ the only two not growin’ up on the mountain had made them fast friends. But that was long ago, and Hermes had had six or seven paramours at this point, and Persephone — well, she was going to become a married woman at some point, if Hades ever got his _damn_ act together.

She shook her head and raised her hand, showing him the scroll held between her fingers. She’d filched it from one of Pa’s old invites to some boring dinner party Ma had decided they weren’t required presences at; odds were, Ma wouldn’t notice if the rejected invite went missing. Wasn’t unusual to reuse the scrolls; hard thing to make, and even Gods hated tedium. She’d just assume she already sent it out on some missive or another.

“From your ma?” He asked, tucking it in his robes. He looked ready to leave already, and Persephone stopped him, sliding her hand over his shoulder.

“From me. To our uncle.”

“I’ll tell Posey you and yer Ma said hello,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. Wasn’t exactly a secret, what Uncle Posey was doin’ with Ma; still, she grimaced. Didn’t meant she liked having Ma’s business thrown in her face. Then she narrowed her eyes.

“Other uncle.” Hermes eyes went wide, and she recognized what that was in him: interest.

“Uncle Hades? You wanna send a letter to Uncle Hades?”

“Yup,” she said, taking care to pop the P. “It’s urgent, too.”

His eyebrows moved higher. “Urgent? Uncle Hades?” He took a step closer to her, leaned forward, and she knew this was Hermes waiting for gossip.

“That’s right,” She said, refusing to give him a damn word more. Weren’t his business, what she and uncle Hades were doin’. She hoped he would let her go with just that, but she’d come up with a side plan if Hermes was going to prove a big gossip – and he was, his eyes wide with surprise and curiosity.

“Come on,” he whined. “It’s cruel to leave me hanging about this.”

“Fine.” She rattled off the excuse she’d prepared waiting for him. It was a lie, but, hopefully, a believable one.  “Ma needs his help on a project for the big man on the conch shell. Very hush hush because she don’t want our Pa gettin’ his nose in it. He’s been a right bastard to Arion.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust; she hoped Hermes would buy her little act and to further sell it, she sighed. “Don’t ask me for details. I’m not allowed to help. Just to act as the messenger. She thinks he’s more likely to come if it’s…if it’s from me. Uh, because we been workin’ together on sealin’ up the underworld. Ma don’t — don’t really talk to him much. Like I do, I mean.” 

She was aware, suddenly, that she had said too much; she glanced away and felt her cheeks burn. This was a mistake. Hermes would ferret out their secret in a hot second and he’d make fun of her about how she’d had a crush on Hades, and sooner or later he’d do it in front of Ma and Ma _would know_ , and Ma would make sure their union well and truly _wasn’t_ consummated, and then she’d….be stuck at Auntie Hes’ feet unravelin’ yarn and wishin’ to die, for eternity.

“Forget it,” she spat. No choice but to commit now. “It’s a stupid thing. I’ll tell her I can’t send him that.”

“Ain’t said that,” Hermes said with a little chuckle, and she didn’t know if she wanted to kill him or if she should kiss him that he left it at that. “I’ll make sure Uncle Hades gets your letter down there, swift as the crow flies.” He hesitated a second, tapping at the seal. If he snooped it, Queen of the Underworld or no, she’d make sure her brother had a thousand curses directed right at his cock within minutes of his blabbing. He looked down, then back at her, mouth scrunched up like he had a juicy scoop but couldn’t tell her. “It’s just — don’t expect a prompt response. Uncle down south, he uh…he gets a fair number of letters. But I don’t see him write back, much.”

She couldn’t tell if he were talkin’ about lovers or letters, but she sure as hell hoped it was letters. She’d never seen even a hint of another girl in her all times downstairs and she was pretty sure she would have by now. “All I need is a letter carried. Do your job, and I’ll blame you for nothing else.”

“Okay.” He gave her one of his more brilliant Hermes smiles, and kissed both her cheeks. “Fingers crossed; maybe your letter will be the one he takes a shine to.”

He blew her a flirty little kiss with his fingertips, and then he was gone, flying down the path. She took a deep breath or six, starin’ at the doorway, a war between eagerness and nervousness swimmin’ through her veins. She had — she had a lot to do. She glanced in on Ma — still snoring gracefully — before tucking into the kitchen, trying to grab a bowl that Ma might not notice were missin’ if she woke up while Persephone was out. If Ma saw she was gone, she’d assume Persephone would be takin her breakfast in the fields and she certainly wouldn’t be wrong. She grabbed her bowl and went out into the gardens, pickin’ up a couple of snacks; be right nice, she thought, if they’d have a little meal together, hadn’t had many of those. She nipped into their stores, found a few olives still caught in sweet oil and poured them in a bowl, grabbed a bit of cheese Ma had gotten from Paulie’s herd and tossed it in the bowl with it. She poured out some of Ma’s least favorite wine into an amphora - not a lot, but enough she could get away with maybe sayin’ she’d drank it with her meal and had been thirsty enough for extra.

She tossed a bit into an amphora, sealed it shut as best she could and picked up both, made it to the door, and paused: she put them down on the table, slunk up to her room, and grabbed a blanket. No guarantee things were gonna—gonna get hot, but if they did, she wanted them to have as much privacy as he needed. She pulled it under her arm, delicately shoved the amphora under the other arm, and awkwardly held the bowl of olives as she clumsily wobbled to the door. She had to drop it all to lock the door.

She left it there and crossed over into the pasture for a brief moment; Uncle Posey had brought Arion back before she'd gone and ma wasn’t the only one who might notice her missing. She was lucky, though; Arion was sleepin’ in his corner, his sleek black coat glistening from running out in the fields with his father. Uncle had ensured his son had plenty of hay, and he’d probably not wake before she got back—and that way would be best, since if ma woke first, he could honestly communicate that he had no idea of where she’d gone. She left him with a silent smile, and shut the gates, then resumed her walk over to the meadows where she’d met her – her lover, she supposed. That’s what he’d called her, after she’d held the very root of him; his _lover_. She liked the way it sounded it his mouth, silky and smooth and sophisticated, just like him. 

She stumbled a bit, trying to make her way in the pitch darkness; she worried twice that she’d trip over and break it all before she made it to the little field he so often came up in, but she made it with everything intact. She spread out her blanket underneath a tree, and carefully placed her wine and snack on top. Then she curled up against the trunk and waited.

It wouldn’t take him long, she thought; he always was quick to come and see her. Every time she was alone long enough he could make it up and give her a few hot kisses, he would, and when she knew she could sneak away, she was always going down there, and soon, she thought, soon they’ live together, and she’d be his little wife forever and ever. And she wondered what that would be like, the thought of being with him every day, _every day._ She'd still see ma – he’d let her visit ma, she was sure. Maybe not every day, but many days, and then she’d go home and he’d be there, and he would miss her because he was her husband, and he’d kiss her _welcome home_ and maybe he’d welcome her back in ways that were all his own. The fantasy was a nice one, and she curled her toes imagining it as she waited; the thought of his mouth and all the things he might do with it when she came home to him.

Eventually, she shivered, cold and frustrated. She wanted him to hurry up and help her put those fantasies to life; it felt like she’d been waiting a long time. She grabbed a bit of cheese, nibbled it slowly. Nothing. She closed her eyes; listened. Nothing.

She waited, eyes focused on the way he’d normally come.

And waited.

And waited.

The wind rustled. And nothing else did. She tried to tell herself it was just himself takin’ his time comin’ up, that it wasn’t anything but that. Was likely just her bein’ too impatient, she knew, but Artemis’ chariot was going long in the sky and time, as Pa always said, was of the essence. She closed her eyes, decided she could well and truly take a bit of a nap herself — but when she awoke, the only thing that had moved was Artemis’ moon-shine chariot, and  Hades, well, he was still doing a great job bein’ unseen.

Her stomach turned, and she took a biting sip of Ma’s bad wine so she’d feel at least a little warmth, ‘cause he sure didn’t want her to have the least bit of comfort from himself. Maybe he’d decided she was too clingy a girl, too young, too foolish; maybe he’d had a taste of her and maybe he decided she tasted bad. Maybe—maybe he’d gotten bored.

She felt a tear dribble out and slapped at it, angry. Wasn’t gonna give him the satisfaction of him seein’ her cry if he was gonna spurn her. She’d wait — wait 'til dawn. And then she’d find something else; she’d deny his ass any explanation, she’d storm out and she’d be fabulous, and she’d find someone else who didn’t mind sliding between her legs. Anyone else ought to have gotten up there a lot faster.

But she thought of his face, the look on his face — his eyes seeking a connection in her eyes, his body on top of hers and his eyes just seeking hers, nothin’ else, nothin’ else in the whole wide underworld—was that just…just him decidin’, after so many months of holdin’ her at arm’s length out of fear she’d be fickle, that he’d be fickle instead?

Another tear, another slap. Another sip of wine.

She waited.

And waited.

She smoothed down the blanket, trying to make herself look a little bit neater and hopefully get rid of some of her fears. She arranged the little bowl, and the amphora, of her pathetic meal, and still - nothing. At this point, there was no avoiding the thought of it; he was _late_. And Hades was never late.

 _Please,_ she thought. _Don’t ya make me feel a fool._ She folded blades of grass between her fingertips; didn’t help. Time just passed.

And. There. Was. Nothing.

She stared up to the heavens; her great-grandpa was up there, she knew, the glitterin’ sky above’em. Ma said Uncle Hades sounded like him, back when he’d talked. She thought of his rumbly voice and her stomach burned, more from anger than anything else. She dug both her hands into the dirt and tried to focus a message down to her stubborn asshole deep down in the world _. C’mon, show up already. Ain’t you care ‘bout me? Ain’t you gonna be my immortal husband?_

“Well,” a voice said, and she bit back a howl in frustration, because it was too smooth, too high a tenor; it wasn’t his voice. It was Hermes' voice instead, and if he noticed how sorrowful a look she had, he certainly didn’t comment on it. He smiled at her as he came out onto the meadow, looking as smooth as he often did.  “Look who we have here.”

“You read my correspondence?” she hissed.

“I might have had time to sneak a peek or two,” he said, which was Hermes’ speak for _you think I didn’t read that the second I could?_ He patted her arm as he invited himself up onto her blanket, and she scooted a bit away. “Seems to me you look a bit lonesome, sister.”

“Well, if you read my letters, then you know I’m occupied.” She gave him a powerful dagger-look, the best storm she could summon with her eyes, but Hermes misunderstood, and chuckled awkwardly. He put a hand on her cheek and neither of them said nothing for a moment.

Then he leaned in a little close and said, “Seems to me you’re all alone.” His voice was liquid-honey that left no doubt as to his intentions.  

She yanked his hand away. “Go away, Hermes.”

“Don’t be so upset.” He leaned back, making himself nice and comfy. She hated it and she knew before he was going to start talking that she was going to hate every word he was going to say. “It’s not you, you know. He’s the one whose taste is horrid, if he’s standing _you_ up.”

She said nothing; what could she say? She had no idea where he’d gone, and why he wasn’t here. Maybe, she thought; maybe Hermes didn’t deliver the letter. “You even bring it to him?” She asked, letting every bit of poison she had soak into her voice. “Or you just throw it away and think you can pick up—”

“I delivered it.” He turned toward her then. “He was runnin’ like a mad man, as always, down there; workin’ himself to the bone. He grunted, put it in his pocket, and nodded, and was off on his way. That’s his way, sister; the king of the dead just works himself down to the bones.” Hermes laughed at his own little joke, his laughter so many leagues away from Hades own. “Don’t got time for nothin’ else.”

“That’s not true,” she said hotly. She folded her arms and glared at him.

“Hey hey,” he snorted. “I see where you're coming from. He’s not bad looking, per se; too serious for me, sure, and a bit too old for you, maybe, but not _awful-looking_ , I’ll give you that. The voice is nice, give you that, too. But sister…he ain’t gonna look at you.” He carefully squeezed her arm, and how Persephone hated the pity in her brother’s honey-voice. “No disrespect, you’re beautiful, but him – he’s just a damaged one, sister. Doesn't have the capacity for such matters as the heart.”

“Go away, Hermes,” she said. She curled herself up into a ball.

“Aw, sister.” Hermes smiled, kind and pitying; she squinted as he came out of the brush, his body so golden-bright it hurt her eyes.  “Now, is that any kind of welcome for your favorite brother?”

“I ain’t see Arion here,” she growled, and Hermes laughed.

“Well, okay. Okay.” He shook his head. “I gotta admit, ain’t had much of a colder reception in all my forays, sister. You're a mean one. I’m only trying to help. And I’m not the only one willing to, you know.”

“Don’t you dare—” she hissed, but it was too late: Hermes whistled, the call a long and lonesome one. There was a rustle in the bushes, and her brother Hephaestus burst out, his thick and ungainly form making a huge racket.

Persephone glared at Hephaustus too, and he at least had the deceny to be suitably cowed by it. Where on Earth was Hades? She was feeling more than a little itchy about him not coming now; hard to believe a man who seemed so jealous at the _thought_ she’d run away wouldn’t come storming in with two of her brothers trying to put moves on her.

 “Oh, Hermes—” She bit back a groan as Heph trundled over to her blanket, his big body taking up just about all of the space they had left. It was hard to believe that Hermes and Heph and her were all half-siblings; there wasn't a single thing alike between them. Hermes was dark as night, Heph somewhere between the two of them, and only herself had inherited pa’s cream-brown skin. They never quite looked like siblings, somehow. Hermes had dad’s smile for sure, and she got her daddy’s hair, but truthfully Heph didn’t look like Pa much at all. He’d gotten his coloring from his ma; looks-wise, Heph was closer to Uncle Hades a bit in the brow and the broad build, but the rest of his face was closer to Uncle Posey, with the wide nose and the wider lips.

“Hermes, are you sure we should be here? She clearly doesn’t want us —”

“Easy brother, easy. I don’t think Seph knows what she wants.” She glared at Hermes, who looked back at her, with a kind smile. “She’s new to this sort of thing, you know? Gotta go slow.”

“Go away,” she hissed.

 Heph looked between his two half-siblings with some obvious trepidation. “It’s alright,” Hermes crooned. “Give me a second. Seph….” He reached toward her and she scrambled back; he frowned, then visibly tried to recover from the faux paus by reaching into the small bowl and pulling out an olive that he popped into his mouth. She watched him eat it with a hateful look.

 “I could show you some fun things we could _share_ , y’know,” he said. He grinned and popped another in his mouth, then tossed one to Heph. Heph tried to get past his discomfort by eating another himself, and another; she hadn’t brought much, and before she could even act, the two oafs had eaten over half of what she had brought to share.

“Those weren’t for you,” she whispered; she reached out and snatched the bowl back. Hermes shrugged.

“Sorry, sister. If you really want us to go, well, we can go, but you should think about it a bit first. It’s not a secret you don’t want to live with Auntie Hes or your mama forever. Ain’t never seen anyone as miserable as you when we get trotted out to those awful dinners Hes insists on—"

“I think our comely sister is too rare a sight at those boring dinners as it is now.” Heph mumbled, then smoothed down his tunic, blatantly nervous; she threw him an eye-dagger look for good measure.

“Your _wife_  know you’re here?” She hissed.

Heph shrugged. “Aphrodite…Does not care much for where I am, or who I am with. It is an arranged marriage, and there is no love between us.”

“Not for lack of trying through, right?” Hermes laughed, and Heph’s cheeks turned the color of Eris’ golden apples, and nothing good was gonna come of _this_.

“I appreciate you guys trying to keep me company, truly I do but – I’d rather wait _by myself_ , you know.” She was gettin' awful tired of askin' them to go. 

“You _sure_? I’m just saying, we could…well, we could have some fun, you know?” Hermes smiled at her with a cheeky little grin. “And if we have some fun, well, it might not get your mama off _your_ back, but it would certainly make Hes hesitate an awful lot more. You know her rules. No fun allowed.”

 “Now, brother Hermes, Auntie Hestia has allowed her vestal virgins certain types of fun, for example playing games or dancing—” Heph started, but, as usual, no one paid attention to his plodding if well-intentioned speech.

“I’d be bound up in Hes’ skirts than dance with either of _you_ ,” Persephone hissed. Both boys looked at her, then at one another, and snickered in response. Like she was just some big _joke_.

 “C’mon Seph,” Hermes said now; she glared up at him, betrayal in her eyes. This wasn’t what she wanted, and for someone who claimed to know her so well, Hermes sure was being an utterly deaf bastard. She knew the reason why he were doing what he was doing, but she was spoken for and unfortunately, she couldn’t just _say_ that, because the only thing worse than Hermes finding out they were _together_ would be Hermes blabbing to her mother, and she was _sure_ he would if he could. It would be very juicy gossip indeed, Hades taking a young bride like her.

“Please don’t take offense,” Hermes said, not unkindly. He reached out a hand toward her, one of his winning smiles on his face. “I just wanted to give you some options who can — who can give you some fun, is all. If that’s what you’re looking for. I know you thought Hades might be an option but…sister, I’ve worked with him for a long time. Longer than you, and that man just has no interest in that sort of thing. And you know, you don’t need to go for someone so old. I mean, why take old mutton when you could have two fine young lambs?”

“I do not think of myself as a—” Hermes shot Heph a _look_ , but her blood was far too boiled to really concentrate on Hermes shamin’ Heph’s awful sense of romance. His real message might not have been unspoken, but it was damn well heard: _He doesn’t love you_. _He **can** ’t love you._ Blood roared through her ears and she went very, very still and only Hermes, who had at least a little bit of sense to him, raised his brows at the rustle of the wind beyond the trees. 

“I choose my own fun,” she spat. None of them could give her the answers she needed but Hades, and he was choosing not to appear apparently.  “And I don’t want to have that kind of _fun_ with you. Can't say it no plainer than that. Now go.”

“Persephone, dear sister,” — only Heph would be so dull as to address her twice — “I believe our beloved and most speedy brother is saying that he wishes you to know you have options. Many of us would be willing to render…err…render…” He blushed a deep gold and oh, she would _kill_ Hermes. Heph got stuck saying he would gladly _prick_ her _rose,_ never mind she had already decided who would get that honor. Heph certainly didn’t have enough thorns for her taste. Probably well and truly cry 'round the middle of it and give a big speech and she’d take _Pa_ before she’d listen to that blubbering.

“I mean, you don’t even have to choose between us if you don’t want to.” Hermes was trying to recover for Heph, and she didn’t appreciate it; didn’t take a bright person to figure just what they were trying to offer. “Why don’t you try a sampler pack sis? Two for one special, here. We won’t tell your ma. Then you can figure out just what you like, what you don’t, and it doesn’t have to be a forever thing. You know?” Hermes' eyes sparkled. “Just a little bit of fun. No need to come on so strong.” He glanced at Hephaestus who stared at her with annoyingly wide eyes.

“Who said I just wanted a bit of fun?” she hissed. “A girl ain’t like a boy, you know. We gotta carry the evidence.”

“I would be willing to support you.” Heph, sweet and ugly as he was, put a big, meaty palm on her leg, and it was close enough to _his_ touch that she kicked away right away.

 “Heph,” she said, gentle, because Heph always was gentle with her: “I ain’t in the mood.”

“I am aware I am a married man and perhaps this behavior would be uncouth but, Persephone, dear sister of the vines and the fields, I do believe I could be a good …companion for you. I am not much happy in my own marriage, you see,” he stumbled over his words, and she sighed; Heph wasn’t a brave one. He’d never be king and that was obvious to everyone but himself. “Aphrodite is a cruel woman and does nothing that I ask of her. I believe you and I could prove more amenable.”

“Heph, no. You’re married, and I ain’t my ma. Please leave.”

“I am willing to make you my primary wife.” Heph’s eyes flashed wildly. “Father would not like it, of course, and we would have to talk to him for quite some time, but I could keep you off Auntie Hes’ side and you could obey me in public so we could — well, one day it would pay dividends. You would be a queen, and in private, I would give an accord to your words, now we would need to balance it with Aphrodite’s needs of course—”

“So much for startin’ small,” Hermes muttered. “I’m not the marryin’ kind, myself.”

“Heph, please, you’re kind enough, but it ain’t…” She shook her head. The thought of having to compete with Aphrodite was an unpleasant one. Least Heph was good at reminding her there were some fates worse than bein’ Auntie Hes’ little lackey-girl. “Ain’t a right offer at all. Pa already made your match. You just have to work at it. Leave now and try to make Aphrodite like you enough to listen.”

“But dearest Persephone,” he tilted his head, obviously confused. “Am I truly so ugly you would rather try to inherit Hades’ infernal pit?”

“That’s not your business,” she hissed; she’d not played this well. Only now did she realize how obvious she had been, and now Heph knew, and Hermes knew, and they knew she had a crush on Hades and if he showed up they’d never be able to hide it and _everyone_ would know. And Hades had been so insistent on keepin’ it quiet and she agreed, because she knew she couldn’t tell ma. And now when he found out that _they_ knew, well, he'd be angry too. 

It was getting light out now, but Persephone hadn’t quite been aware of it until she realized it was darkening again; her hands dug into the covers in anticipation, when she realized just what it must be. Someone capable of sending out that much darkness was a powerful god. “What the –?” Hermes looked up in concern, and Heph too, looked puzzled.

“Well,” Hades said, striding in with purpose and quite a strong dose of anger on his face; he was mad, and she swallowed. “What do we have _here_?”

“ _They_ were just leaving,” she hissed. “Been asking them to for hours.”

“Uncle,” Hermes said, with a sort of awed quiet; she looked at him and could see he was realizing he’d done the math extremely badly on their relationship, and now he _knew_ it wasn’t just a crush because here was Hades, barreling towards her. He sat between her and the boys, and she was all too willing to let him do so. She touched his back and felt him tense.

“That true?” He said, voice dark. “My girl been asking you all to _leave_ , and you decided her thoughts on the matter didn’t matter?”

They all froze at his wording, even her: _my girl_. “My niece,” he said, late, but they all knew what he meant, and they all _knew_ now just the relationship between them was. “She’s a special girl.  She isn’t some _slattern_ you can try to use to satisfy your selfish desires.”

He glared at them both, and she could feel the fury that was melting off him like a candle, burning bright. He had some sort of bag thrown over his shoulder, and he shifted it off and handed it to her. She dropped it at her side.  

“Well?” He glared at them both. “Cat got your tongue?”

“We didn’t mean to—” Hermes stood, and hastily took a step back. “I’m sorry, uncle. I think we—we misunderstood.”

“Isn’t me you should be apologizing to.” He glanced toward her for half a second; she couldn’t tell what that expression meant, but it was an intense one, full of heat that made her toes curl. “Apologize to her,” he said, curtly. His tone brooked no argument.

“Uncle Hades—” Hermes stuttered.

“ _Apologize!”_ His voice was loud enough it damn near could have woken ma and Arion up, and Persephone winced.

“I’m uh, I’m sorry, Persephone.” Hermes looked miserable at her, right sorry; it was clear he’d deeply regretted his role in this tonight. “I’ll uh – I’ll talk to you later. Sorry.” He turned tail before she could even say a word, and her stomach sunk; he knew. He knew and he was leaving and he would _tell_ and now she would struggle to not have mom find out and, and – she swallowed.

“Hades,” she said, and he shot her a look. She put a hand on his shoulder and he pulled her closer.

“You alright?” He whispered. She nodded, and he relaxed a bit. His arm did not go away. She understood, then, that he was stakin’ his claim, and he was doin’ it in a very public way.

“Uncle,” Heph spoke up awkwardly. “I wish to express my own discomfort. I had no idea you were—”

“It doesn’t matter what you _thought_.” He leered over at Heph. “Why don’t you go back to your _wife_?”

“Beloved uncle, it truly was not meant in such a fashion. You see, my wife doesn’t love—” Heph’s face was near green, he was so queasy, and she thought: _serves you right_. It was almost a giddy feeling, hearing Hades take charge. She could handle herself, mind, but there was something about seeing him in his power that was a might bit intoxicating. He rubbed at her back as he glared down at Heph; he said nothing, leaving poor Heph to choke on the line he’d cast out.

“Look, I didn’t mean to—Hermes said—”

“Are you deaf, boy?” Hades snarled. “The woman has asked you to leave. _I_ have asked you to leave. I could not give even the slightest damn as to your reasons. You’ve transgressed against this woman, and that is enough for me to judge you prurient.”

Hades was lookin’ at Heph like a predator now, his body tensed like he was going to spring into action and devour the man, and Persephone couldn’t say she would be sorry if he did. Certainly make the conundrum about what to do about those blabbermouths easier. “Son,” he said, voice thick and dark. “You’ve been asked to leave twice now. Don’t make it three.”

Heph didn’t move.

Hades reached outward in one fluid motion and shrugged her touch from his shoulder. Then he lunched forward surprisingly fast for as big a man as he was and _pushed_ Heph down. Heph being a mountain of a man, it was an impressive gesture, and Hephaustus went tumblin’ down with surprising speed. “Hades!“ she cried out, stunned. That wasn’t like him, outright violence. “Stop!”

“Uncle—” Heph protested.

 “Uncle _nothing_. Go on home,” he hissed; deeper voice, sharper knife-steel intentions obvious in it. Persephone crossed her arms and stood. “And tell nothing of what you’ve seen here.” He didn’t bother to dignify her cry with a response.

 “I’m terribly sorry but I must say this is horribly uncouth—” Heph protested, because Heph was always big and dumb, and Uncle Hades took his big foot and slammed it into his belly, making Heph curl up in a ball of divine pain. That, she thought, was takin’ it all a bit too far. Heph hadn’t put a hand on her, and it was obvious he wasn’t going to fight.

“You’re coveting my property, boy,” Hades hissed, and didn’t her blood boil at that, because she wasn’t anybody’s property, wife or no. He glanced, flinty-eyed at her, and she gave him the ole’ daggers right back; she could be as mean as Pa if she wanted to, and even Ma had a mean streak in her she was sure she could channel.

“I’m no one’s property,” she hissed, but Hades didn’t look at her, keeping his eye on Heph instead. Heph was physically paling; he looked back to Persephone to find succor and didn’t see in her what he wanted.

“I, Uncle, I, ah —”

“You want to start a war with my estate?” Hades’ voice was right shouting now. “Leave or face the consequences upon doing so. Choose quick, boy.”

“I’m going!” Heph sounded like a little boy and scooted backwards, obviously turning tail without even a hint of his dignity intact. She was tempted to run in the other direction; she could pick up the rest of the ruined wine and snacks in the morning, let Hades get a power trip off of brother Heph if he wanted someone to grovel, someone to boss around as his little property. She got up, dusted off her skirts, and prepared to walk away.

“Stop.” Hades looked toward her and he held out his hand, and she stopped moving, staring at it and wholly unsure what to say. Wasn’t right, yellin’ at him like that, or ignoring her, or calling her his - his - property! Like she wasn’t more to him than the damn _dog_.

He smiled at her and took a step closer; she didn’t respond. Why had he done that? He reached out his hand toward her again, his fingertips close to brushing her own. She looked away; she hadn’t heard any of the boys coming back her way, which was good because they could have run in Mama’s direction. And if they told on her now —

She ignored him until his hand closed around her wrist; she looked up at him them, her hurt surely naked in her damn eyes. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, and, well, at least that was surely a sign of his cooling down, wasn’t it? He couldn't be mad at her if he was bein' sweet as that. She wanted to ask if he was, and she didn’t know how. He didn’t seem to need to talk. He grabbed her other wrist, leaned down. Put his head against hers and stood there for a right long time, just drinking her eyes in the moonlight.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice thick, and she pressed herself into him, tight as she could in an embrace he all too willingly clung to. “Know you had to be scared, your brothers tryin’ to—to _seduce_ you like that.”

“I can hold my own,” she said. “They didn’t touch me.”

“They didn’t leave when you asked, either.” He pressed her close to him, took a deep breath. “My fault. I should have come sooner. Didn’t realize you—you weren’t alone.”

“Yes,” she said, and felt some of her own anger re-lit; he was awful late, was pretty much morning now. “It’s nice to show up when people ask you to.”

He nodded, stroking her hair for a long moment. He didn’t say anything else, and she wondered then just what he’d occupied himself doin’ for so long when he hadn’t come back to her. “I’m sorry I was overlong,” he said, finally, after several minutes of just touchin’ her hair. “Lost track of time workin’ on something.”

She gave him a baleful look and the tightness she felt in his shoulders suggested he knew exactly how bad an excuse she thought that.

“Now I have been missin’ ya,” he said, and then his head tilted down, and he kissed her, and she threw herself into it because she had missed him too, and she was mad but she had missed him, missed this impossible man who made her legs turn to jelly and her backbone turn to steel.

“That’s a sorry excuse for bein’ so late, days late! Weeks!” she spit as they parted. His eyes widened for half a second as his head tilted. His jaw turned, and she knew now that was a sign that he was thinking. He liked to do that.

“Weeks late?” He murmured. Sounded confused, and what was there to be confused about?  He pulled her closer, and she felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat in her ears as he cuddled her tight.

“You said _wait_ ,” she said, feeling foolish; he smelled sooty when he leaned in, kissing at her forehead. “I’ve _been_ waiting.”

“So I did, and so you are.” His eyes gleamed with something in the dusky light, and she felt puzzled as he pressed her firmer into the tree behind her. “But not for much longer, I should think.”

“What?” She didn’t understand, and he smiled down at her, grin wolf wide as he went kissing her again, this time not so gentle. Her wrapped his hands around her back, hands going under her ass, shoving her against him. She knew she should get up for air, try to tell him she was mad, but she whimpered instead, and he took advantage, pressing so much into the trunk that she could feel the bark of the tree press clean through the cloth on her back and the growing heat of him pressed against her front. Confused, she wound her hand around his head and he took that for permission too, dropping the sack he was carrying with a loud clatter - and that raised more questions, and she was still mad, and she forcibly put her hands at his neck and pulled him back.  He made it hard for her to think when he was like this, all kisses and charm.

“My wife,” he said, soft and sweet as fresh cream and it would be mighty adorable if she weren’t already so cross. “You’re going to be _my wife_.”

“You sure about that? Cause you’re sure takin’ your time. And I ain’t your property either, even if we do marry!” she whispered. She wasn’t a damn hat or a coat, just some piece of property to be shown off or put away when he was bored. His hand moved up to stroke her hair and she did not yank it down; her hands, stubbornly, remained curled around his shoulders.

“You’re going to be my _wife_ ,” he muttered again between kisses, planting a trial of them down her neck. “I’ve a right to defend my house.”

“I said I ain’t in your house yet. And what I mean is, I’m not property! I ain’t some wrap you can just put on and - and throw off!” She wiggled uncomfortably, trying to get away, but he pulled her back toward her, holding her from behind.

“Sit with me,” he said, soft and low. She didn’t give him anything more than a flash of dagger eyes, but he smiled his funny little smile that was just for her in response and who was she to resist that? She’d just have to keep her wits about her and not let them get muddled by his sweet-cream smiles and strawberry kisses. She sighed and nodded. He tugged her down, keepin’ her right in his lap.

“Ain’t gonna take you off,” he said, smiling soft. “Never been a man prone to changing my mind.”

“It’s not about that,” she said, but he just nuzzled his cheek against hers for a moment, eyes soft and dark in the pale light - morning now, he was so late. And who knew how long Ma would stay down? She swallowed, nervous. No way Ma could find out out about this, not 'til it was too late for her to raise any kind of stink about it. And no way he could just be charmin’ and sweep all her thoughts away! “I’m not the one afraid the other’ll be _fickle_.”

He pulled back; his faced flashed with hurt for a moment, and he pressed a hand to her cheek. “Isn’t like I…” He faded off, cleared his throat, looked away. “You’ll be my _wife_ , that is all I meant. Ain’t wanting to fight. Was mighty happy to get that little letter.”

She said nothing, and he leaned inward, pressed another kiss to her neck. “I’ve missed ya something terrible,” he whispered. “Every day, more and more since….” A kiss to her neck, his hands glanced over her breast this time; she grasped his hair before realizing he’d taken it at permission, and she was nowhere near mollified. His mouth curled into a smile at her neck, his hand at her breast moving in circles that made her want to spread her legs and open her mouth.  She pushed away again, scrambling off his lap so she could sit and not look at him. Be easier this way, she thought.

“Well, you’ve certainly kept your distance for _missin’_ me so.” She could hear the steel in her voice and knew from the way he stopped his explorations that he had, too. He moved away from her, rocked back on his heels. She wondered what he’d been doing; he smelled like a forge, and she couldn’t imagine was any emergency that required him to smelt something.

His hand moved to her shoulder and she ignored it, though it was mighty hard. “Now look,” he said, and she heard the hard edge come back in his voice; irritated now, buzzing like a hornet, and maybe he had a right to be, but she had a right to be mad herself, stressed as she was. “Been preparing,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Things to be done before a man takes a wife. Before a king takes his queen, especially. This isn’t a small thing, you and me.”

“Suppose tellin’ the bride the wedding’s on fell down the list, huh?” She saw him wince. “You said wait for me, and you didn’t come back til I beg ya to? And even then, you come storming in so late Hermes has time to run from under the earth to up to the tippy top of the mountain and back and still beat you here? With Heph no less, who ain’t exactly fast?” Her voice wobbled. “Maybe we ain’t so compatible—”

“No!” He gripped her tightly, tugged her back toward his arms and folded her into him; the smell of him was comforting, all sooty-soft, but she kept her glare up at him, even if he folded her against her. There was a power in that. He rocked them back and forth a moment.

“We are,” he said, simple as if that was it, as if he spoke a truth and it was a commandment, just like that. “We are. Thought you knew I’d be comin’ for you at your party, you invited me. Figured I’d take you down then, that’s the truth of it.”

She leaned back and frowned. “And I told you I wasn’t a patient one.”

“I know, lover.” The little new nickname burned in her belly, blushed her cheeks; he saw it, curled himself around her tighter. “I know.” That didn’t really clear much up, but he did look a might regretful, and maybe that was enough. He brushed his hands lightly against her belly and she shivered. How she wanted those hands a little more southernly.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, feeling a heavy blush settle on her cheeks. “Every day I think about you, do you know?”

 “Oh, you do, huh?” She could see from the side of her eye that he was thawing into a good smile now; he tapped her shoulder. “Come here. Let me see ya, beautiful.”

She turned, and he pressed forward again, this time gently opening her jaw and slithering his tongue right in. He kissed her like he wanted to become a part of her, kissed her slow and luxurious, like they had all the time in the world, even if Artemis’ chariot was nearly done with her run; she wondered if Apollo would following on her coattails quick. Wondered if he’d see them here, like this —

She broke the kiss. “What now?” He asked, the edge back in his voice.

“They know now,” she said. “Heph and all them. Heph’s a miserable secret keeper, and Hermes suspected I had a crush on you and now—” She squeezed his shoulders. “They _know_.”

“Let them know,” he growled. “We’ve passed the point of it bein’ a secret, ain’t we?” He looked at her. “Yer Pa already knows. Hestia knows. I know we’ve been quiet on it, but…” He thumbed over her hand. “I think it’s time, lover. Be married in a week, and if people know, well—those boys won’t mess with you again. And neither will any of the others.” His reputation, she knew, cast a long shadow. 

“Wait. Hes knows?” She tried to think of Auntie Hes; she certainly hadn’t given any sign of it, and Persephone damn well knew she wasn’t the one who’d told. “You told _Auntie Hes_?”

“Hes saw us at the _noumenia_.” She’d gotten him to come to one - _one_ \- of Auntie Hes’ get-togethers, and it had been a short one; Ma had pulled her away awful fast, and she’d barely gotten to hold his hand. “You weren’t making it much a secret then, surprised your Ma didn’t—”

“She can’t! Not just yet.” She had to tell Ma, she knew, and somehow, and _soon_ , but that was a hard conversation to have, and she hadn’t thought of the words for it, since _‘bye Ma, I don’t want anything you wanted for me, in fact, I decided to marry your younger brother, the one who lives way down below, but don’t worry, I’ll be back for visits when I can!_ was admittedly a bit of a poisonous pill to swallow. And she  _had_ done her best to keep it cool at the _noumenia_ , but uncle Hades had been so handsome, and there had been sugar on his nose, and ma hadn't even been in the room when she'd taken to gettin' it off him in the most elemental of fashions. 

“She has to know in a week, darlin’.” He tugged the bag he’d brought over toward him and grinned toward her. “Here, let me show ya somethin’. Maybe this will make it easier.”

“What?” He dug through the bag he’d brought and pulled something out.

“Give me your hand,” he said, and held his out, and she was curious enough she allowed him to hold hers, even if she was still not entirely happy. “Close your eyes,” he said, and she rolled her eyes but played along.

She felt something cool, just barely warmed by his fingers slide onto her finger, and her stomach dropped when she realized, even before looking, just what it was. “Open ‘em,” he said, and his voice shook.

She looked at his face before her hand, confused by the unsteady voice. He just gestured down, and she looked.

It was - well, she understood what might have taken him so long when she saw it. It was impossibly thin metal, what kind she could not say. It was like nothing she’d seen before, half-silver shaded and half something warmer, closer to gold; looked right natural, like he’d somehow fished the metal out of the rivers then pulled it together by hand, and perhaps he had. The rock embedded within it, stuck in like it had just come to find itself in a pool of warm metal, so fine were the filigrees, was—well, a diamond, she thought, or a very large piece of glass, but knowing him—probably a diamond. He didn’t build anything that would last for anything less than eternity.

“Oh,” she said, and moved it back and forth. She didn’t think there was a single flaw in it, and it was a big stone, and he was a metallurgy god but —

“It’s titanium,” he said, quietly. “The band.”

“That’s not—not an element that can be mined, I thought.” She knew the stories pretty well: that it had been an element that existed when the world was right young, and disappeared them as it got old, disappearing into the ether like so much else. His generation required considerably less than hers to survive, and her grandfather’s generation even less so: there were rumors grandfather could travel in time itself, and Gaia could be everywhere on the planet, all at once. There was less magic in the world now, and less titanium with it. The last known deposit of it in the known world had been taken by the Cyclopes, used to make weapons for her Ma, Pa, and the rest of their siblings during the big old war long ago. And she knew full well that it was a priceless thing; unbreakable and eternal, stronger than iron and lighter than gold.

“Well, there’s a bit of it left in the world.” She looked up in surprise and alarm.

“Your helmet?” He shook his head.

“Hes’ sword. She knew I’d ask, even before I….” He squeezed her hands and it felt mighty different, with the ring on it.  “Wanted us to be happy, she said. Figured the best way was together.”

“She ain’t wrong.” She looked at it as it flickered in the moonlight; it was a right beautiful ring. She looked at his hand. “Ain’t you got one, too?”

He nodded. “Bit simpler but made just the same. You’ll…” He cleared his throat. “Have to put it on me, for the ceremony. Just wanted to make sure yours fit. And…give you something you can show your Ma,” he said. “Proof I’ll - I’m serious. About providing for ya. You’ll be well kept, with me.”

She looked down at the ring in her hand; it was a damn romantic gesture, but she couldn’t imagine Ma would see it that way. A ring ties you down; not free when you gotta be roped to someone else. Ma would rather her be at Hes’ side or her own, with some protection but not the threat of total dependence on someone else. She’d see that ring and she’d see it as not a sign of his heart’s love but as the sign of something else: a down payment, a bribe. She frowned. She didn’t know _at all_ how she was gonna tell her Ma.

 “And there’s one other thing - your crown.” Hades continued, and she was happy to focus on him again.

She snorted. “A crown?” She knew marryin’ him would make her a queen, but she hadn’t figured he’d go for the full royal wedding look. “Ain’t think you had much interest in politics.”

“I thought you’d like to look the part.” He pulled out something, but it certainly wasn’t what she would have thought of as a crown: it was a black net, the dark metal links thin as ribbons, with bright studs in-between the webbing. “For the ceremony, I thought — “he looked down at the net in his hands. “Would set off your hair mighty nice.”

“You makin’ it sound like this is going to be a big thing,” she said, delicately feeling the mesh as he put it into her own hands. The studs weren’t just bright bits of metal - diamonds, too, each one. Could buy an awful lot for this hairpiece, she thought. An awful lot.

“Ain’t it?” He brushed her hair up and helped her put it on, sweeping her curls into the net with a delicate flourish. “You’re going to be a _Queen_ , sunshine.”

“Don’t need a ceremony. Ain’t marrying you just because you’re a king. I just want you and me,” she murmured; she’d rather have it done with before Ma found out, in truth. If Ma thought she could reason with Persephone’s decision, she’d argue until she was blue in the face. If Ma thought that Persephone’s fate was well and truly fixed, she might be sad, but she’d come ‘round a lot faster. Best to convince him to have it just the two of them; could do something fancier later if he wanted. Boldly, she climbed up onto his lap, going on the attack. “And _all_ that comes naturally to a man takin’ a wife.”

“Hm.” He gave her a half-smirk that showed he certainly was more than interested in that part; his eyes went half-lidded, and she thumbed at her _fibula_ holding her _peplos_ together; the sun was up, and there was a risk that maybe Ma might wake but well - she could get back into it fast, if she had to. She wanted not to fight; she wanted to be touched and to be loved.

“What are you —?” He asked, as she dropped the dress; she hoped Hermes and Heph were long gone, though if they got an eyeball full, it was their own fault.

“Gotta see if you like it,” she purred. “No distractions.” She waved her hand, so he’d see the ring. “Just you and me.”

“Lover, you got an odd sense of distraction if you think _this_ ,” he motioned toward her, “ain’t distracting.”

“It’s how you’re gonna see me on the night of, isn’t it?” She wiggled on top of him, parting her robes down entirely and doing her damn best to look mighty attractive, kneelin’ up on his lap with her knees spread just a bit too far. His eyes slipped from her face once, but only once, and he looked up at her with a soft smile as he realized she’d caught him out at it. “Well, what do you think?”

“Ravishing,” he growled, and kissed her, and it was a good kiss, his hands going ‘round her back but not the least bit gentle as he tugged her to him, his lips heavy and insistent and she wanted badly to meet him and did. She moaned as his hands glided down her sides, and didn’t that put a sharp little gasp in his mouth. She chased him, not letting him get away for a few minutes, until they both needed air, and she looked down at the soft blush on his cheeks and thought he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

“This is how I want it,” she said; he shifted her up on his lap 'til she was sittin’ right on top of a rapidly hardening cock; she ground herself against it. “Just you and me. Right and natural.”

“Well, if it’s what you want, suppose we’ll play it that way. A week from now, you’ll have your little ceremony. Get yourself declared an adult goddess in your own rites. And then when that’s over, I’ll take your hand and well…”  The smile on his mouth was not, she thought, in any way, a nice thing, but it was a powerful look and how her knees did shake with it.

“No more _Kore_.” She murmured; one of his hands glanced at her breast, gently swirled a nipple that was rock hard underneath his touch.

“No more _Kore_ ,” he agreed. “You’ll be Lady Persephone of the Third Estate, Queen of the Underground and everything that lives and moves.”

“And your _wife_.” She grabbed his other hand, bringing it up to her other breast; time was running short, and if he was going to be away from her a whole ‘nother week, she wanted him to at least touch her first.

“Yes,” he whispered. “My _wife_.”  He pushed her up in his arms at that, replaced his fingers with his tongue. His hand went lower, inching toward her underthings, and she whimpered as he tugged the linen cloth down, his hand slowly unwrapping her underthings like it was nothing but easy.

“I love you,” she murmured as he lightly kissed her breast. “I _love_ you.” She liked tellin’ him that; she’d held it in so long, and now it just flowed out of her like dandelion-wine on a summer night.

He looked up at her and his look was just like in his office, all fire-eyed and heavy with a heat hotter than the pit itself; there was love there, she thought, there _was_ , and Hermes was damn wrong because he certainly _could_ love her. She whimpered a bit as his hand slowly gave her proof of it, very leisurely running up between her legs and touching her right between them.

“Bit wet there,” he murmured, “lover.”

“Could be more so,” she said, and gave him her most heated glare, and he grunted; one hand went up to bring her face higher, and she spread her knees a little wider on his lap so he could touch her _more_. That was what she wanted – more, more of him.

She gasped as his fingers slide between them, finding the bud there. It felt different when he touched her, and she wanted to touch him too, but he shook his head when she tried to reach for the root of him.

She closed her eyes and felt the world constrict to just the two of them; just his hands, his _hands_ and his _mouth_ and the _feelings_ he brought up in her, like the world was blossoming around her; she let herself relax into him and he caught her, caught her and held her and touched her like he knew just she wanted, circling the nub of her like it was the tip of her crown. 

She shivered against him, and he kept the pressure steady, giving her just a little nudge with his fingers.

“I love you,” she whispered, and he burned her mouth in a searing kiss, his finger moved from her clit further south, sliding up in her like it was natural, and it made her want more than just his one finger; the vines of warmth he’d nurtured up in her furled out, warmth spreading through her, like she was the fields and the soil, and he just pushed a second finger right up through, a new shoot, that’s what he was building in her.

He pulled away abruptly and she opened her eyes; he was staring at her, wild eyed, and slowly and reverently pulled away her crown, laying it on the edge of the blanket. “What-?”

“Don’t want it getting dirty,” he murmured, then pulled her down to the ground and pulled himself over, and didn’t it just feel like the earth at her back was rising to meet him? The morning light was bright now, and he was her shadow, her darkness, and she ran her arms up his sides.

“You’re getting _me_ dirty,” she giggled, and he kissed her, again and again until she felt almost breathy underneath him. "And the blanket is right there!"

“You’re an earth goddess.” He framed his hands around her face, the smile there sweeter than anyone would ever believe him capable, and that was just for her, she knew, just for his _wife_. “Looks right beautiful on you.”

“You’re an earth god,” she giggled, and threw her arms around his neck, gently exploring the seam of his clothes; he offered no protest when she started to pull it off. “My big boulder.” She laughed, and it felt good to laugh with him; they were lovers, just gigglin’ and in love like any other pair could be.

“Hm,” he made an odd little noise, a half-puffed laugh, and she smiled and pecked him a nice little kiss. He smiled and she pulled her hand behind his ear; seemed to her that an earth god needed a bit of a garnish, and she concentrated deep and pulled on her powers, brought a seed to blossom and tucked a bright red flower full of frilled edges on his ear. It looked right beautiful, the red next to his dark hair; red complimented him. He pulled it out to see it than snorted, putting it back with surprisingly reverent care.

“You look right stunning in flowers.” She grinned up at him and smiled. “I’ll make you a crown for the wedding, since you were so nice as to make me mine.”

“For you,” he raised an eyebrow. “I would wear it.” She laughed again and he smiled like it was the prettiest song he ever heard.

He kissed her again, slow and sweet as morning dew forming on the grass, his attention focused on just exploring her, and she thought: she wanted this forever. She wondered what it would be like, when they were living together, not having to just steal kisses when Ma was asleep or otherwise engaged. Not that she didn’t like the stolen kisses, like this, when he wasn’t focusing on anything but mapping her body like she was one of his many realms.

“Lover,” he said, strangely shy. “Do you need me to make you any, ah, provisions?”

“What?”

He pulled away from her. “Women’s…things. Or things to store…them.” He frowned. “Apartments?”

“Don’t need anything but you,” she said. “Maybe a bed. Don’t plan on sleeping too much, though.”

He snorted and nodded. “Well, we can work on more when you get there. Just…trying to keep myself busy while I'm...while I'm waitin'.”

“I can think of something else you could keep yourself busy with,” she mouthed, and tugged his hands into hers. His mouth followed, seeking hers, and she snaked her tongue in, highlighting her wickedness. He groaned into her and finally looked down at her like they were well and truly gettin’ to business. The bulge pressing down on her certainly suggested part of him was eager to do so. “Maybe we should practice a bit ‘fore the wedding night, you know…” She gave him a hungry look and found it very, very much returned.

“Here? _Now_?” He murmured.

“Why not?” She wiggled against him. “I love you, pretty sure you love me —”

“I do,” he said, and his voice so dark and so deep and so, so _beautiful_. “ _Very_ much.”

“Then, it’s time,” she said. “Right and natural. _Long_ past time, in truth.” She’d been beggin’ him to finish the job of makin’ her a woman for a long time now and for the first time in a long time, he looked like he was right tempted to.

“Okay,” he said, and his voice wobbled a bit, but she didn’t comment on it. “Okay.”

He pulled back, sitting on his haunches, rubbing his hands up and down her thighs. She sighed happily, relaxed; she was ready, and she had been looking forward to a long time.

She closed her eyes, waited, and — felt something else moving on the breeze. _Fuck_.

“Persephone!” Ma’s voice called out, clarion-clear and loud as a bell. “Persephone!”

She jerked upwards, hitting him right in the face as she hastily scrambled back. He pulled back, his hand cupping his nose as she dove for her dress, slid it over her shoulders, re-fastening her fibulas so fast she was certain she’d win a competition for it if it had come to it.

“What’s the rush?” He said, voice unusually soft. “Let’s talk to her. Let her know. We can show her the ring, I can promise her—”

“No,” she brushed down her hair, pocketed her wedding ring. “No. Soon, I mean, soon, but — not yet, okay?” His eyes were dark, and his blush wasn’t so sweet a look now; now it was anger, not annoyance, on his face, and the timing was so bad.

“So you’re _embarrassed_ ,” he hissed. “Of us.”

“No, that’s not it,” she promised. “Not it at all.”

And of course, now, there was no time to explain. She pursed her lips, tried to soften the blow with a kiss. “I just don’t want her to try to stop this, okay? And she will. If she knows. Ain’t nothing to do with you, so much as that is just how Ma is.”

He looked at her, eyes dark, and said nothing, but he yielded to the kiss. She kissed him again.

“I _love_ you,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

“Persephone!” Ma called; closer now, she knew Persephone had gone out to the fields. Not much time at all.

She leaned in, kissed him one more time. “I love you, too. One week, okay? Wait for me. And I’ll – I’ll wait for you.”

And then she turned, and she did not allow herself to look behind. He said nothing in goodbyes, and she did not hear him leave his seat. She could feel his eyes on her, and wished, more than anything, that the situation wasn’t as right complicated as it all was.

She found Ma only twenty feet away; she was sure she looked a bit a mess, her hair wild, her dress messily pulled together, and her lips swollen with kisses; Ma looked at her like she’d gone mad.

“Fell asleep,” she huffed. “Watchin’ the fields. Sorry.”

Her Ma looked at her, and took in the sorry excuse with little more than pressed lips. The expression that passed her face was not kindness so much as something much more complicated, and she gently touched Persephone’s cheek.

“Persephone,” she said, soft and a little sad. “My little girl.”

“Ma,” she puffed, annoyed. Was nothing little about Persephone; two decades full of life under her belt now might not be much compared to Ma’s lifespan, but it wasn’t nothing. If she were a mortal maid, she’d have a child or two by now; even Hebe had one now, and Hebe was _five years_ younger than Persephone herself.  “You’re up early, Ma.”

“Well,” Ma said, delicately, and she wondered if Ma trusted her, if this was Ma’s way of trying to catch her out doing something she wasn’t supposed to do, which, of course, was all Persephone was doing. Maybe Auntie Hes had said something, or Pa had gossiped with Uncle Posey and Uncle Posey had spread the word of Hades right on down to Ma, or the boys had run back to her, and not Olympus. She waited and said nothing, and after a long moment, ma said, in a resigned voice: “No time to waste, it seems. Got to bring the crops to blossom and get my girl ready for her own ceremonies.”

She leaned an arm over Persephone’s shoulder, and Persephone wondered if she smelled of Hades, or the underworld, or the shadows she’d clung to.

“You’re growing up fast,” Ma said, quiet. She didn’t reply for a long moment; she wanted to look behind her, see if Hades was still watching for her in the meadows, but that would be too much, too obvious a clue.

“Let’s get some breakfast, Ma,” she said, trying to smile. “I’m hungry.” And she was, it was true; especially once Hades had worked up her appetite. She closed her hand around the ring in her pocket and squeezed it; she would show Ma, she would.

But not yet.

“Suppose that would be nice,” Ma said, then hesitated, squeezed her hand around Persephone’s shoulder and looked at her like she was the most important thing in the world to her, which Persephone knew she was. Ma loved her and Arion more than anything else; she was a good ma, which made breakin’ her heart all the harder for Persephone.

“Persephone…You’re not getting in trouble, are you? Not running with Hermes or any of those other brothers of yours?” She spoke soft, and kept her head focused on the azaleas they were passing through.

“No, Ma,” she said; that was true enough. She took advantage of her Ma’s turned head and looked back; she thought she could almost make out Hades, still sitting in the dark shadow of their tree, but she wasn’t sure. She swallowed and nodded in his direction all the same, hoping it was him, and that he would see it. “No trouble at all, Ma. No trouble at all.”

If her voice sounded particularly dreamy, well, Ma didn’t comment on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, I cursed things by promising to back to regular updates. I got a nasty cold, which turned into nasty sinusitis with an ear infection, and long story short, this update took way longer than intended. I'm already working on the next update though (which will be back post-Hadestown) so apologies for again going long. 
> 
> I also forgot to add notes last time which I didn't realize until reading reviews, so I've gone back and added those to Ch.17 for those requested. I know I'm also behind on reviews, and I hope to work to catch up on that this weekend! Once again, I truly do appreciate them, every response makes me smile. <3 
> 
> Love to FrenchToastandSourdough for beta-ing for me once more. As usual, she can tell when I'm being right foolish. 
> 
> Notes:
> 
> peplos - an ancient greek dress. 
> 
> fibula - a broach used on ancient greek dresses to keep them pinned together
> 
> Heph - Persephone's half-brother, son of Zeus and Hera. Married to Aphrodite, albeit unhappily. Neither the first nor the last of unhappy marriages among the gods...
> 
> cyclopes - one-eyed giants who worked with Hades and his siblings to rebel against his father during the Titanomachy, and fine blacksmiths of many mythological artifacts, including Hades' helmet, and in this fic universe, Hes' sword (classical mythology didn't give the girl siblings superweapons, so clearly that had to be addressed)


	19. Nothing in Particular and Everything Inbetween [44. Tender Kiss]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadestown's starting to change, but it's not the only thing.
> 
>  _“Persephone,” he murmured; he touched her knee. If she needed to make herself busy, well, he was a master of finding ways to occupy himself, and he knew it was time to tell her his plans for the day. “Let’s go out_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-Hadestown, two months after [Unmoored](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/47763313). 
> 
> (This part of the timeline is thus far: [Walk With You in the Wind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44990554), [Bramble, Briar, and Thorn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/44107945), [Calm Before the Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/46193947), [Unmoored](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/47763313), and [Hindsight Being What It is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505399/chapters/49425662). 
> 
> This is best read with the chapters listed above but can be read on its own if you keep in mind that Persephone has gotten pregnant, and they're both coping with the fallout of Hadestown as well as previous attempts to have children that have ended not-so-well.
> 
> Rating: T  
> Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, complicated family relationships, mythological references, Hades being a rather dubious steward of his "children"

Hades stared at the ink in the inkwell. The black liquid did not offer him many answers. He peered into it deeply, trying not to think about what he was thinking about, then, with a rather automatic fashion, he picked up a fountain pen and dipped it in, carefully writing down the latest numbers from the forge. They were hideous, as they had been for the past month.

With only five employees staying on, they weren’t ever going to hit the numbers from the period he had dubiously decided to refer to in his own mind as _pre-boy_.  It was …easier, to avoid names. Orpheus, itself, was a word that was still painful, and the songbird’s name had been outright stricken from his thoughts. He sighed into the ledger.

For the first time in his incredibly long life, going back to what he considered work was…difficult.

There was little avoiding it – he couldn’t keep Hermes entertained with long-dead lovers forever, and even Persephone had started to get a bit tired of having him underfoot. She’d hidden it better than she had in years past, but the gentle nudge that he had his own responsibilities to attend to was there, and he couldn’t ignore the children he’d claimed for his factories, mines, and mills forever. He worked, dutifully. If not, perhaps, as obsessively as he had in times past.

She had not kept idle herself.

She’d opted to spend her days (or what passed as them; there was neither day nor night in their realm) out in the garden that they’d neglected forever and an age; he thought it pointless, given how he couldn’t keep it going when she was gone, but it was a harmless enough diversion and certainly nothing _vigorous_. He’d wanted to keep her on bed rest, but the problem with marrying such a spirited woman was one certainly could not tell them _anything_ that they did not wish to hear – especially when they were carrying one’s children. He had offered it as a suggestion, and she had wrinkled her nose and cast it aside. Another of his many ideas she had not liked. She had her own mind, and she would do what she wished. He supposed he should consider it fortunate her thoughts went to gardening.

She was careful enough not to overdo it – by the time he walked back to his office, Persephone was often sitting curled up in the pillow-possessed corner she’d declared a reading nook, some dime-store novel or another between her fingers. He’d be greeted with a kiss, and despite the lingering tension that was still evident between them, their relationship was slowly knitting together. It felt…peaceful, really, to sit by her side. Right and natural, as she’d say. Their evenings avoided most serious topics, but what they had between them, well – it was there. They had talked agreeably, had held one another. And it was…nice. He enjoyed the evenings, spending time cuddled up with her, listening to whatever book she was reading and enquiring about whatever flowers she was growing. Perhaps, on occasion, stealing some kisses, sweet and kind. Highlight of his day, and it had been a _long_ time since spending his nights with his wife had counted as the highlight of his day.

Unfortunately, that meant the rest of his day was… _lacking_ , in comparison. A large part of it was his difficulty in being apart from her. A right struggle at the best of times, now made supremely difficult from the fact that every instinct he had wanted to keep close to her. He was uncertain if it was some sort of primordial apprehension from his upcoming fatherhood or just his own usual anxieties boiling over, but every bit of nesting instinct he’d ever had was now coming forth and screaming that he should be by her side.

He tried to add up the production numbers from the forge again for the steel drums, frowned. Couldn’t be right. Was he getting so distracted by this that he couldn’t even force himself into arithmetic anymore? He added up the sums twice more, only to be more discouraged: the numbers were worse than what they had been at the start of this experiment. All-time lows. He would need to go out and try to bring the crowd back under his thumb; the five who remained in that forge had worked closest with the songbird. He’d have to soothe things over, perhaps even force them to go into the Lethe a bit early. They’d refused his offer to allow them to transfer to the great beyond and proved hesitant to move on. At the time, he’d thought perhaps it had been a desire to stay on with the work, to find meaning in their sweat in the wake of the tragedy that even he was aware enough they had all suffered. Now, he wondered if their continued and subpar work was some sort of protest, some sabotage,  raging in how their boss did their songbird sister dirty.

But what choice did he have? The songbird’s seduction had been a hasty decision and a dangerous one. Keeping her was destabilizing to both his marriage and his base of power. She had to go and so she had _gone_ , ready or not. He had steered things for her as well as he could, his only possible means to redress the wrong he had done to her. The unwelcome thought that she’d be of an age with his children, virtually to the day, blossomed in his mind; he swept it aside with a sweep of his hand that also succeeded in smudging his figures.

He stared at the mess for a long minute. He could fix it, certainly, and in previous years he’d have taken pleasure in copying the digits from one book to another, taking pride as he watched the numbers increase. Or, if his thumbs were sore, he’d have gone to the floor himself, stalked the children on the line, and, on occasion, joined them on the presses, in the familiar hum of machinery. He would have buried himself so deep in his own machinations that all he could hear was his very own most dependable beat. It had been one of his favorite coping mechanisms, among many.

But none of that seemed important anymore.

There was a knock on the door; rare enough and particularly unwelcome. “Come in,” he said, voice cautious. It was not Persephone, he knew. Ever since they had married, she came in the back way. The memory of how they used to be came to the mind unbidden; he all but felt the ghost of her arms around his shoulders, the faded scent of her in her nostrils as her ghost whispered he was working himself too hard and to come to bed. Of course, it had been years since she’d done _that_. He missed it, but he didn’t have a clue how to ask her to save him from his own machinations, to show a little tenderness for a man who deserved none. The visitor was probably Hermes, but Hermes coming for a visit to his office when Persephone was home usually meant trouble up above. That was never welcome; otherwise, Hermes tended to skip his uncle for social visits and instead visit his sister.

There was a long pause after the knock and he stood, wary; hesitance meant _more_ trouble. “Come in, or get out,” he snarled, his voice purposefully menacing. He waited; the door didn’t budge. He stood, took one step toward the door, and it started to swing open gently. He braced for impact, and then straightened up as he saw the hesitant occupant: one of his workers. Tiny thing, one of the smallest workers he had on the line yet, given the nature of the underworld, also one of his most senior workers. He stared at her a moment, debating how to address her.

No one had come to his office to do anything but to sign a contract in many, many years.

“S-s-s-s-sir,” the little shade said; she looked down at the floor, as if his office would swallow her whole.  Said nothing else. He stared at her, wondering how on earth the little shade managed to keep her mind enough to talk to him. She was one of his triangle girls; twenty years and some dead. What was left of her was…. limited, to say the least. She couldn’t possibly remember her name, though he remembered it as he remembered the name of every mortal who had ever lived. Her name had been Rosalia, and she was only fourteen when she died, one of three in her family he’d taken that day.

It had been a bad day, he remembered that, too; enough mortalities he’d had to play back-up to Thanatos to catch souls before they suffered needlessly, and would have preferred to have Persephone as well given the body count…but they hadn’t had her. She couldn’t leave her _day_ _job_ during the harvest. They’d made do.

His pity for the girl that day had taken him entirely by surprise. He’d seen worse scenes – he and Thanatos and, at times, Persephone too, had worked more than a few battlefields, had seen some tragedies beyond telling. A factory catching fire, girls dying around him like burnt up poppies – it should have been nothing but routine.

And then there had been Rosalia.

This speck of a girl had lived and died in her first job. She had succumbed to the smoke, still waving her sisters and co-workers through a stairway she held open, even as she struggled to breathe. He was behind in his collecting; she’d experienced some pain in her last few moments alive, to his regret; by the time they met, her lungs were burning. Still, what she had done at the end of her small and mostly insignificant mortal life had taken him by surprise. “ _Pater_ _meus_ ,” she had called him, the words old but the tongue clumsy and modern, the vowels too Italian to be properly Roman, and she had gripped his arm with surprising strength. Those were her last words, two choked and strained words, and she had made considerable effort to form them as he'd pulled her soul away from her body.

It had touched him, and his heart was so rarely touched.

He had liked her clinging to the old tongue in her religious verve, though the name was one rarely applied to him; generally, the only prayers people prayed to him were ones that they were afraid to give any name to, and she was no exception, her last thoughts all directed to him: _help me help me please don’t let me die._

But she had formed the words, recognized him for what he was. She had spent her last living moments to give him worship, and that had been pleasing.

And it had given him an idea, a seed that had germinated in the setting up of that mill, in the taking of that girl and countless others like her. He had thought Persephone would be pleased by his new idea. It was sparing them from the harsh effects of the afterlife – for a little while, at least, and perhaps eternally, if Persephone found herself of a mind to agree and the little mortals could be consoled not to fear the fire. He had thought she might even see this girl as a winsome candidate for adoption. She looked the part of something between them, could even be passed off as biologically theirs in passing: her skin was closer to his in coloring, but her eyes were like Persephone's, amber-dark, and the little shade’s hair was as curly as hers, too. She could have fit in their home, he thought. It wasn’t just the physical resemblance; she was as quiet and serious as him, had a head for figures but also a wicked sense of humor. They were secretive enough most of the awful extended family would believe the child theirs, and believe, too, that the child held powers she did not.

He’d been careful not to promise the shades too much when they’d arrived: work, mostly, with food and shelter afterthought promises that they would never quite need but always desired. He’d fed them a bit of blood-food to keep their memories until Persephone came – he wanted them at their best and brightest. He’d set up a mill and watched them work and, as always, he had waited. He had high hopes that when Persephone saw, so much would be different. She’d pick whichever of the shades she wanted – perhaps even them all, he would not mind! – and they would have, at long last, a fuller house.

The suggestion had almost doomed him instead.

This entire experiment had gutted his marriage, their eternal candle sputtering when he had hoped madly that it would burn brighter. She had hated his idea, hated every inch of his mill, pitied the poor children and hated him for thinking work was anything worth celebrating. He’d stop feeding them, and they’d stopped remembering, bit by bit, until they were just automatons who worked eternally, without rest or succor, as he himself often did.  Easier to think his work made his life better; a comforting thing, work, its own reward without any of the broken-hearted tendencies of family or marriage. Now he stared at the little thing– still fourteen, never growing, her small hands still and always perfect for detailed needlework – as she lurched into his office, every step making him more uncomfortable. He should act.

He just didn’t know _how_ to react. He only felt a sickening gnaw at his belly, that he should be doing _something_.

She took a step, froze, frowned. He watched coolly, curious even as his stomach churned in alarm. What she should have done was shake her head, staring into space, lost, an automaton winding down as she deviated from her set pattern. That’s all they were at this point, twenty years gone: sets of instructions. Algebraic equations. Proofs. What human instinct was left to her? This long gone, the Underworld had had its way. Irreversible. Unstoppable.

What she should have done was turn and go back to the line, or simply stop, or, if she had gone fully feral, she should have run for the river, poke at it until he found a thread of new life to hook her into, and let him wash her soul down into that new life. _Not_ go to his office, _not_ gawp like a fish in an unfamiliar environment.

She took a step, stopped as if considering if she should, and then pushed forward, taking two more steps.

“Ssirr?” she asked, the word visibly hard to grind through her jaw. He was doing nothing to hinder it, but the oblivion of the underworld naturally ground her under its heel. She should have simply stood there, unable to speak and yet, the effort was made. “SSssiirrr? P-p-p-p…le…p-pp-pppleee-aaaa…”

“Sit down.”  He gestured toward the chair, knowing she very well might take the command more literally otherwise, sit upon the ground like the child that, deep down, she had once been.

She did, falling into the chair like a puppet cut from her strings. He sat back down at his side of the desk, picked up his pen as if he was going to take notes. “Well?”

She opened her mouth, closed it. Opened again. No noise came, and after a minute, she closed it again and looked down into her overalls, as if the buttons of her overalls held the answers. She did not fiddle with it. Could not breathe. Simply stared at her worker’s uniform, then back at him.

“Speak,” he murmured. He touched her hand and she jolted away, eyes skittish, but in that bolt, he’d managed to give her roughly a minute’s worth of control. She’d be able to talk – for a bit. Long enough.

“Can’t work.” She shook her head. “Not anymore.” She took a deep breath and held out her hands. “Hurts.” He immediately saw why.

Her hands had faded; he winced looking at them, aware it was his fault she was now a soul in pain. Her body was preparing to move to the next life, and he been so busy trying to keep things going with Persephone that he hadn’t been checking the floors often enough to see that the songbird’s song had spread further than his forges. N _o one_ in Hadestown had reached their next destination without him forcing their hand, so to speak. Now, evidently, one had found a way. A mere child-soul at that! “I see,” he said.

“S-sorry. For…forgive, _pater_.” She bowed her little curled head down quickly; had she any blood, he was certain he would see it flood her cheeks, her face. “Want to…to….” She made a motion for putting the thread through a needle, and he winced again, made a _hmph_ that he could see from her face, she read only as alarm. 

“Nothing to forgive.” He sighed; he’d be losing another worker, then. Rosalia had been a good worker, too; not only talented at embroidery, she’d managed the books for her squadron of seamstresses as well despite her tender age. He drummed his fingers on his desk. She looked down at his fingers, her eyes obviously aglow with concern. Their coloring, so much like Persephone’s, twisted at his gut.

“Just part of the business. Employees come, employees go.” He meant it as comfort. She did not take it as such; her eyes jumped to meet his and he saw fear in them. He sighed. He didn’t need or want to be dealing with this. His heart wasn’t into any of it. Not anymore. He wanted to be with his wife, and even after he finished with the little shade, he still had the other half of his daily job to go through; normally he left collecting to his subordinates for anything short of devastating events, but this reaping was of a more personal nature. He’d already told Thanatos that he’d be taking this one himself.

He had planned to invite Persephone along: some sunshine would be a novelty in Wintertime, and perhaps it would be a good way to show her that he was allowing her more time in the sun.  He would simply go to see her early; she would ride with him, he was sure, and chat with her mother while he did his…collecting. He’d be spared worrying she was going into labor without him, or at least Demeter, at her side; she would get to see her mother, who would surely squawk to no end about Persephone’s belly. Which was, he had to admit…quite a sight. A sight he missed.

“What is it that you want?”, he snapped at the little shade. He would fix the crack in the wall, one way or another. If she was moving on, he would _move her along_. “Let’s say it plain. You want another go around up there? Or are you feeling ready to go to the world beyond?”

“Beyond?” She said, her little voice trilling upwards into nothingness. “I don’t…I don’t…understand, _Pater_.”

He bit back the urge to sigh. He jabbed his pen up towards the ceiling. “If you go up there…” He shrugged. “You’ll forget everything you’ve ever known.” She was close to that now, but he knew she would only be panicked if he pointed it out. “You'll live through the entirety of life again…and this go, it could be better. Could be worse, too; I can’t guarantee outcomes.”

“It-it's a….a test,” she said, a little stronger now; her little convictions lent her through. “To escape _questo Purgatorio.”_

“Sure.” Not quite right but close enough. “Now you wanna move on, well, you’ll get to remain yourself. We’ll talk about your life, what you’ve done, and we’ll see just what side of the great beyond you land on. And I’ll get you to whichever end is right for you.”

“ _Il Paradiso e il infierno_.” She muttered to herself; he didn’t correct her. He didn’t care much about the human’s ever capricious, eternally changing belief systems.

“So which exit strategy are you thinking about?” He drummed one hand on her desk; she lowered her head down, the spark gone, and with it, much of her ability to speak.

“I-I-I-I-I…” She tried anyway, and he let her speak. “D-d-d—d-on----ttttt…” It sounded mangled, and he tried to give her some impetus to get the rest out. 

“Speak up.”

“ _Know_ ,” she said, at last, slumping back like the three words cost her everything she had to utter them. Had she had the ability to draw breath, he had a feeling she’d be panting. She reminded him in some ways of the songbird he tried not to think about; his hands sat, guilty, upon his table.

“I cannot make that choice for you,” he said, slowly.

She said nothing. She stared up at the ceiling in his office for an immeasurably long amount of time; he lost patience, watching her watch nothing. He did not want to be in this room, with a shade that was not his child, with her fear of him pressing in on every side. The girl looked at him, lost as the day she had come to him, and for the first time he thought, uncomfortably, that perhaps Persephone was right, that humans did not view work as its own reward, that he had given her nothing but a delay to the inevitable. The guilt was becoming oppressive; he did not _want_ this, and the child did not know what it wanted.

“Think about it,” he said. He stood. Screw it, he decided. He would go to his wife. The change in scenery would make him feel better. The shade would have to do her own thinking, and he would receive her when she’d made her decision. “Tell me when you make up your mind.”

“F-f-f-f-f-f-.” She said. He paused, staring at her, as she tried valiantly, to form a word. He put one hand on her shoulder, sent a bit more of a jolt through the little shade. “Flowers!”

Okay, not what he expected. “What?”

“I want – flowers.” She stood, even-keeled, as if she hadn’t just asked for something as impossible as strawberry rain or dandelion suns. “Flowers. Been so long since…”

He raised a hand, closed his eyes. “There are no flowers, here.” Hadn’t been in a long time; Persephone had withdrawn every bit of life from Hadestown but her little bar, and he wasn’t going to point the shade _there_. Boarded up and locked anyway. The only other flowers in the underworld were in his wife’s garden and given the explosive poison she’d spit when he suggested involving the shades in their household, he wasn’t about to direct her _there._ “Make your choice. Til then, out of the office.”

“Flowers,” the little thing mumbled, but she stood, walked back toward the town as he wished her to. “ _Flowers_.”

Odd. He watched her go with some weariness, and then he bolted the door to his office; she’d return at some point, and he didn’t particularly care if he kept the shade waiting. He took off his jacket, hung it on the back of his chair. He opened the door to the back of the house, snuck off the back way, going through the winding corridors of his home.  With hope, this plan would not join the thousands of others he had offered in times past only to be thrown aside by one whim or another.  

The house was quiet. She was not at her reading nook, her novels and novellas un-opened. He walked down the steps, the whole house eerily silent, and knew she must still be out in the gardens. He went there.

He didn’t see her at the gates and his uneasiness rose; he went through quickly, nearly tripping on a wide burst of irises she’d planted near the entrance. He stopped to watch them for a moment – the wide purple flowers were, he’d admit, quite fetching; he could barely see the amethyst flower he’d carved for Panagia underneath. She’d been a quick one – gone almost immediately after they’d learned she was there. He felt the old raw edge of his flower there, guilt making him swallow and move on quickly down the path.

“Flowers,” he grumbled; the word did not bring happiness for him.

He heard Persephone in the distance as he wandered deeper in; the steady hum of her voice as she worked. He couldn’t make out the words but hearing even the lilt of her voice helped to relax him a bit. He worked his way through several more flowers that could only rightly be called floral explosions: peonies, sea lavender, the ever-present asphodel; a bevy of narcissus, a dollop of baby’s breath that made his throat catch. That shade, he thought, would lose what was left of its damned mind if it saw this.

Most of that was new; Persephone had been busy. He had a hard time finding places to move that didn’t wind up with his flowers or hers underneath, and he was thankful that this was a private area, for he stumbled more than he would have preferred any of the shades to see.

He made progress stepping through the garden, if slow progress; he dodged flowers on every side and worried that perhaps she was overdoing it after all. The further he went in, the stronger her voice.

“So that,” she was saying, her voice steady with the soft scrape of moving dirt from one pile to another. “That was the summer when your daddy took me down to Tunisia. Was a pretty place.” He smiled; was she telling their stories to the triplets? He remembered that trip. “Your daddy worked hard to figure out just how to get us away. I sometimes wonder if it took ‘til the heat of summer just ‘cause it took him that long to get your uncle Poseidon in on it. Was worth it though. Sand was so pretty and so warm, you could just stick your toes in and it was the most novel thing, so different from our sand, baby. Wasn’t rocky or wet or anything like that, was just warm and soft and drifting across these giant old deserts. Your daddy and I sat and watched those sands shift to and fro, and he gathered up some sand in his palms and – your daddy, he’s a bit of a metalsmith, did you know that? Can transform any sort of element, your daddy, and I glance over at him in that desert and he just _makes_ a rose out of glass from the sand. Romantic old man, your da; he don’t look it but deep down, he’s as romantic as they come.”

He smiled; he had done good on that little get-away. That had been what he’d thought, at the time, would have been the first and only nadir of their relationship; they hadn’t conceived in a century, and he had grown concerned they wouldn’t, and she more so. Hadn’t fought really, not yet; it would get a damn lot worse, but the younger man he had been hadn’t known that, just yet, and had been desperate to hold onto her by any means necessary. He wanted to reassure her, that he loved her as his wife regardless of their absence of children, that it did not matter.

And it had worked, he thought, for a time.

“ _And then_ ,” she was moving something again; he caught a blast of dirt above the dense foliage, not far apart now. “Well, I’m not going to go into details, but your daddy flashed his big brown eyes at me, and well, you know…” He chuckled; those details, perhaps, would stay between them. He bent past a rather low-hanging willow – _also_ new, he noted – and grinned; she had to be in a good mood, he thought, and she’d like seeing him, and he’d help her tell the story. Minus some of the more salacious details.

“Well,” she took a deep breath. “That’s when we got you, baby.” He stopped, abruptly, still half-hidden in the willow’s vines. “We didn’t know it yet, not for a couple of months but…” He heard her sigh. “We got you.”

She wasn’t talking to the children they were having; she was talking to a child they had _lost_.

“I couldn’t wait to meet you, baby, and your daddy…” she said; he took a step forward, stepping out of the trees and putting a hand around her shoulder. She looked up at him, a soft smile on her face.

“He wanted you, too.” They’d only visited the grave once since she’d come home this summer; he didn’t like the thought of her returning to it as she evidently had.  He gently put his hands over her shoulders in comfort. She shifted her attention back to the grave, and he tried to swallow his discomfort, to stand silent as a sentinel rather than storm off in a huff. The look of here alone here, head bowed, almost penitent, made his entire body feel ill at ease.

With her head down and her back bent in _that_ outfit, she looked like a – well, he didn’t like her wearing that. Having outgrown her mother’s housecoat, she’d found a new way to challenge him; he’d offered countless times to buy her new dresses, maternity dresses, maternity pants if she wished for them. She’d turned down every offer for new clothing in lieu of borrowing some of the overalls and bindings from the worker’s stock. Wasn’t the time to bring up his disagreement, he knew, but he _hated_ it.

“Yes.” She traced the boy’s name. “I never got to teach you all the things I wanted baby,” she said, and he marveled at how calmly she could say that, after so many centuries of avoiding this spot. “But I’d like to teach your brothers or sisters about you, baby. Teach them all about jackstones and knucklebones, and you – well, I know you’re not really here, but…” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll think of you, baby. Hope that brings some peace to...” She let it die there, and he knew why: there was nothing she could say. The boy held no ghost, he’d certainly tried to summon it enough to have concrete proof of that. But he thought, perhaps, it was not for the boy’s benefit, to say such things. He squeezed her shoulder again and this time her hand rose up to squeeze his back, and that, he thought, was at least a comfort shared between them.

“Persephone,” he said, soft. “What are you doing?”

She looked up at him and it was hard to tell whether or not she was in distress; the look on her face was practice, neutral – her eyes held no tears, and her mouth was set in a neutral line. She tucked her hair behind her ears, didn’t bother standing. He knelt down to make it easier to talk eye to eye.

“You’re early,” she said, strangely flat. None of the fight of the way she’d whispered it last year, some harridan hiss that told him all he needed to know about how welcome he would find himself that day. “Weren’t supposed to see this.”

“Hm.” He stretched out his legs and tried to ignore the hard edge on his back being his own son’s grave. He tugged her a little closer with his arm, and she went, tucking herself up against her side. “Wanna…talk?”

“It’s silly.” She shook her head. “Just – felt like all this work I’m doing here, I oughtta…” She swallowed, and it was a subtle indication of her discomfort but he did not miss it. “Didn’t seem right, to improve all the greenery, and not try to talk to them all. What kinda mama does that?”

“Persephone…” She looked up at him, one eyebrow cocked. For a moment, he was struck by how different she looked this time around, compared to how she looked the first time she’d been pregnant; she’d gotten a bit older of course, but the most shocking change was in the tartness of her, the disappearance of the sweetness that had marked her younger years. Hard to imagine her jumping and clapping as she’d done with Zagreus now; spinning him around with an exuberant _finally_ on her lips. _We did it! Finally!_

There was no dancing with these three. Their optimism was only crouched in the most careful of terms. They’d been drained of anything else. He stroked her hair. “You would have been a wonderful mother to him,” he said, soft and as comforting as he could be. “Was a lucky boy, to have a mama like you. Even for the…for the time they had.. These three,” he said, trying to change subjects. “They’re lucky to have you, too.”

She shook her head.

“Mighty nice what you’ve done here,” he said softly, changing the subject. “More than I would have thought when you said you were doing a _bit_ of gardening.”

Needed to be done.”

“Needed?” He asked; she nodded, but offered no details, just nesting her hands protectively on her belly. He hesitantly offered his own hand on top.

“Well, it looks….” He cleared his throat. “Nice.” He didn’t know what else to say.

 “Neglected this garden for a long time, Hades.” She closed her eyes. “Long time. Don’t want these three to see it, to know us us at our…” She ran her hand down her belly and didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.

“Well.” He drummed his hand against his knee, the sound almost deafening in the quiet. Her eyes were on him, and he didn’t look away. “Days like that won’t come again. Awful close now,” he said. “Look at you.”

She gave him a look that was unreadable; somewhere between hope and disbelief, and in the old days, he’d have picked at the latter like a dog at a scrap of a bone. Older and perhaps a _bit_ wiser, he said nothing. After a moment, she leaned into him.

“We’re so close, but all I can think is what if they go…?” She whispered, sounding so vulnerable he wanted to scoop her into his lap – though there was far too much of Persephone now to be able to. He resorted to just putting his head on top of hers. 

“Then we deal with it,” he said. “Give them all the honors we can. And we won’t – this’ll be it. Take precautions to make sure we don’t wind up doing this ever again.” He cleared his throat and looked down. Trying to talk to her plain was right difficult, after so many centuries avoiding it. “Can’t lose you. That’s the truth of it.” 

“Never be out of this cycle if we do that.” He knew that damn well and frowned; this was why he’d wanted her to adopt one of his mill children. She had refused, and no matter of grumbling, whining, and cajoling had changed her heart. _Ain’t right and natural_ , she’d said, as if right and natural had ever mattered. _We’d be leavin’ them defenseless_ , she’d said.  He’d ignored that this latter argument was a good point; it was better than nothing, and there were no rules that he could not _assist_ in the event that they needed a god’s powers. And running down to the underworld to help a paper-king or queen shore up his kingdom a few times a week was still a damn sight better than being apart six months every _damn_ year.

But she had refused, and that had been that. He’d let the children go feral; he’d let Hadestown consume him whole and she had taken to the drink, for admitting the pain of it all was too painful even for either of them to handle.

“Well,” he sighed. “As I said. If that’s what it takes…” He shrugged. “So be it. But there is no point counting our chickens before they’re hatched.”

She smiled at him, a soft _hmm_ all she gave in reply. He didn’t respond; it wasn’t so much a _nice_ smile that graced her features. “Maybe you’re right,” she offered, finally. She didn’t say what he knew that they both had to be thinking: that six months together, six months apart, had never quite been enough.

She pressed one hand into the ground beneath him; vines exploded all around them, tickling at his legs. He stared at her, stunned at the sudden and powerful reflex of power. Was she –? His eyes flickered towards hers in hope, and she leaned into him, a soft smile on her cheek.

“It feels right, being out here. I enjoy it.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek; he wanted to return the favor, but she danced away too quickly, her head turning away to face the great expanse of her handiwork. “Sides, the more time I spent out here, the less time I think about tearin’ upstairs and into the first bar I see.”

“Still?” He murmured. She leaned her head against his shoulder; he tried to remember the last year they’d sat so long like this, being honest, and knew it was more than a few years gone. Tried to remember the last time they’d visited the boy together and knew it for _eons_ gone. And yet – she was still here.

“Comes and goes,” she said. “Comes and goes.” His mouth went into a thin line, and he wondered how long he’d missed her trading the occasional drink for something far more habitual and devastating; the awareness of her reliance came to him suddenly, but he didn’t think it had been an overnight sensation. “Ain’t gonna take a drop,” she whispered, vehement. “Don’t fret. I want this – I want this too much.”

“Know you do,” he said, and wondered if she’d relapse back into her _medication_ once they were out. If they didn’t …make it, he thought the odds close to certain. If they did…as with so much else, it was an unknown. He didn’t ask.

They had avoided most of the important conversations over the last month, conversations they _should_ have had. But these were, also, conversations that _might_ have led to arguments, and thus conversations avoided despite pledges to speak plain. Their children had no names, no supplies, no clothing; he hadn’t modified the train yet, for fear of offending her by doing it wrong. Hadn’t bought their cradles. Hadn’t made rooms. If any possible element of planning might have led to a fight, it was discarded. He knew now that most of his plans led to fights, so he avoided planning altogether. He suspected, perhaps, she was doing the same. They were trying quite hard, he thought dryly, to avoid stepping upon one another’s shoes. It was hard enough to learn to love again, for her to carry the children after all the ones they’d lost. “It’s alright,” he said; he didn’t bother to qualify what he meant by it. She nodded, and didn’t bother to reply.

“How’s work?” She asked, her voice a little cautious.

“It’s….” He thought about telling her about the shade, the little lost thing; decided it was, ultimately, unimportant. “As it is. Things a bit in flux is all. Slowed things down, you know.”

She nodded and didn’t probe any further into the old town. It was the most civil conversation they’d ever had on it. She’d lost interest in the older version of their kingdom they’d held together long ago, when this garden was well and truly overgrown. He’d hoped slowing things down would prove his intentions to build things up _with_ her, instead of just _next_ to him.

“Persephone,” he murmured; he touched her knee. If she needed to make herself busy, well, he was a master of finding ways to occupy himself, and he knew it was time to tell her his plans for the day. “Let’s go out.”

“What?”

He stood, ignoring the mighty cracks of so many of his ancient bones as he shifted. She looked up at him and held out her hand, and he took it, instantly ready to help her rise. “It’s your neighbor’s time,” he said. “Figured you and I could take a little work trip; I’ll collect her and you can visit with your mother, then ride home.” Demeter, he knew, would spend hours examining her daughter’s wide belly; she was certainly a patroness of plenty in her figure now and Demeter, he imagined, would be no less transfixed than he was.

“Oh,” she said; her hands went to support her back as she stretched. “Poor Gladys.”

“You knew it would be her time,” he drawled; he held out his hand as he helped her stand up. “It’ll be gentle. Natural causes, right and simple. Make sure she don’t feel a thing.” Truthfully, he’d be relieved to have the awful gossip down here, if only to have a permanent midwife on retainer that Persephone trusted; human or no, there would be something of comfort in that. He’d endure her calling him _Clyde_ if he had to – a while, at least.

“I knew that girl,” Persephone said, waddling in the garden toward her Azelias; he purposefully slowed himself to her speed, walking behind her. “Since she was a little thing. Four years old, the first time I met her. Little thing, big grin – she was so happy, back then. She looked like…” She stopped, swallowed. He put a hand on her shoulder, wordless comfort.

“Well,” he said, not sure what she wanted. “You’ll see her more often now.”

She sighed. “That’s not the point, Hades.”

He said nothing. He didn’t _see_ the point.

“Ain’t like I raised her or nothing, but I’ve seen her whole life. Seems like just yesterday she was a little hanger-on, beggin’ for a bit of butter and bread. Gave her a bit of jam from the old world and it was like a religious experience.”

“Technically,” he drawled. “It was.”

She glanced back at him just to roll her eyes. “The point is, Hades, the thought of her forgettin’ me is a sad one.”

“She won’t forget for a while,” he said; squeezed her shoulders, a peace offering made in a shoulder massage. “Ways of making her remember longer, if you’d like.” Though that, of course, would also mean the nursemaid couldn’t start on her own next life if she wanted one – still, eternity in service to a goddess wasn’t a bad thing, and he’d be fine with her keeping her as a perpetual nanny if she desired. After all, the children would need caring long after their birth. A bit of blood or a bit of fire, and they could simply keep her.

“I know,” she grunted. “Just…sad to me, that her life is ending so I can squirt out three babies.”

“Her life would have ended today anyway.” She’d had the date stamped onto her head from the day she was born; it was just as it had always been for their kind. Rare was the intercession of being taken before one’s time; when it happened, one of the Gods was usually to blame. Again he thought of that _songbird_ , her dark brown deer-eyes and hungry mouth; his stomach turned. “She serves a higher purpose in helping you.”

“I suppose either way it can’t be helped.” She leaned against him and chuckled. “Almost feel bad we’re not close to the rest of the family. These babies are…” Something caught in her throat; he saw it, saw her swallow whatever ugliness she was afraid to mention down. “Well, if they make it, they’ll be awful lonely. No young ones to play with of our kind, and the mortals they love with die in barely a blink .”

“Well…” he said. He tapped his fingers against her shoulder. “They’ll have one another. Not nothing, that.” He knew that better than anyone else; hadn’t him and his four siblings been inseparable until Zeus had come along. “Maybe…Could make them siblings, if things go alright. Someone to boss around.” Unspoken but true: if things didn’t go alright, they’d never talk of this again. He’d finally do what he should have done ages ago, burn the whole damn hallway of broken promises he’d made with her to children who had never lived, and bury the ashes. They’d just make do, after that, six months up, six months down, and somehow he’d try to make that enough.

She leaned into his chest and he bit back the urge to carry her, just wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling the tip of her head with his chin. She hadn’t responded to the sibling idea; he knew that was a dangerous ground and didn’t press it any further as her fingers wound into his vest. “Won’t your mama be in such awe of you,” he murmured, changing topics to something nicer, something safer. She smiled.

Demeter would, indeed, he knew, enjoy the sight of her. He’d finally gotten a newfangled camera device. She’d not protested, for once, and had even let him take a couple pictures, even, just to preserve her like this, all vim and vigor, bright eyes and big cheeked. One stayed in his pocket at all times; the other in his office, and the negative in a drawer in his desk. She looked up at him, gentle smile on her face. He smiled back, confident he was finally on the right track with her. She pressed her slightly swollen hands over his shoulders, gently rising just a bit on her little legs to reach. “Hades,” she said, and his name was nice on her tongue, no barbs lanced in it. “Hades.”

“Hm?” She was breathing a bit heavy; he let his hand drift to her side in concern and found one of their children turning, some hand or foot taking both their breath away with a simple little movement.

She took a deep breath herself. “I know what you’re trying to do,” she said, delicate, the _but…_ unsaid but understood. He waited patiently for the next part; she took one deep breath, then two. “Mighty nice, mighty nice.” She broke away from him, wincing. “Oooph, hey, hey. _Baby_. Settle down, baby.”

He watched, transfixed, as she smoothed her hand down her belly; he couldn’t feel anything, but obviously she could. “Amazing,” he muttered; she snorted.

“See how _amazing_ you find it when a kid is tryin’ to run up _your_ lungs.”

“Just an energetic child,” he said. “Wants to run outdoors with her mama.”

“ _Her_?” She raised an eyebrow again.

“Fatherly intuition.” He'd seen a girl in the corner of his mind, surely one – at _least_ one would be a girl. With her mama's hair and his dark eyes; quite a sight, he knew she would be, and he was trying so hard to keep faith that she would exist. _You will live_ , he thought, stroking the words into her belly. _You will live._

“Hm.” She smiled, rubbed her hand over his own. “He right, little bramble? You an outdoor girl?”

“Maybe your mother will be able to tell?” he didn’t think such was in her power, but it was always possible Demeter might have had more future-flashes than he had, something that, for once, someone else had inherited from their father. Perhaps there were inklings one could divine early from natural signs that Demeter would be wise to. Demeter could help bring a cow to calf; didn’t seem too hard to think she could do the same to their kind.

“Doubtful.” Her smile vanished. “Hades. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I can’t go.”

“Can’t…?” He offered; what he wanted to say was _why the hell not_ but he was trying not to, especially since he was very aware that all three could hear him at this point. He didn’t want them to squabble in front of their babies; they would grow up in a house full of love no matter how much their father would have to bend his back to make it so. He had grown up without; despite the underworld they’d be born into, he wanted their home to be better than what he’d had. They would know a family; they would know love. It would never be just the three of them against the world.

“Look at this garden.” Persephone flicked her fingers to the veritable cavalcade of flora surrounding them.

“Mighty pretty,” He said; he offered nothing else. Wasn’t sure where she was going with it and figured flattery was the surest route .

She sighed. “Hades, _look_ at this garden.” 

“Alright,” he said. He scanned the perimeter; it was a garden full of life. A garden _full_ of life. He hadn’t noticed that the wrought iron of the fencing had been overtaken by moss and clover this deep in; he looked down and saw buds swaying in the dirt underneath her foot, thought of the vines earlier

“You’re…?” Hegrabbed her shoulders, swallowed; he knew what this meant.   “You _are_.”

“ _That’s_ why I can’t go.”

“Spring is coming out of me,” she said, throwing out her hands; flowers burst forth in a canopy around them that he might have found charming if he wasn’t aware that this sudden cornucopia wasn’t, entirely, something she was choosing to do.

“When…?” He asked, softly. “Today?” He thought about that shade, insisting on flowers, and wondered if the demand was a different sort of pull than he’d realized – not so much her own desire so much as Persephone’s powers drifting into the old town, sparking connections where there had been only dormant dreams.

“Yes. If I go up, spring will come, and when I go down, well – it’s going to hurt things. Trees and flowers can’t tell if it’s just a temporary thaw. Might kill a lot of flora if I go with you, and things bein’ how they’ve been…”  She dropped the statement there, but he understood. _My fault_ , he thought; what wasn’t? But surely if the earth had taken this much damage, it could take one more day. Great grandmother Gaia would surely not wish to have one of her descendants giving birth in the dark, alone. Surely she would understand one final transgression.

“Hmm.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Have you considered it may be necessary damage? If you’re losing control of your powers, then…” It wasn’t long at all left to them before she would deliver. He knew well enough what this was. A clever evolutionary mechanic; part biological protection for a mother at her most vulnerable point, part a way for the child to be exposed to the power that separated them from mortal beings. Their own abilities would take years to come in fully,  but this…was the start.

“Yep.” She squeezed his arms and looked up at him with a casual air that was, deep down, anything but. “Are you ready, daddy?”

“Yes.” He kissed the top of her head. “Trying. Lover…” He hesitated, then touched her cheek. “Come with me. Don’t want you to be alone, as such. Not this late.” He did not want her to go into labor alone; Zagreus had come quickly, had been in his arms within an hour of her telling him the baby was coming early. A selfish part of him did not want to miss their births if they came out alive – and the responsible part of him knew he could not leave her alone if they came as Zagreus had, womb-dead. Her body might survive it; her sanity wouldn’t. He had no desire to lock her up in an attic like one of her dime-store novel’s villains.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, as if she could possibly know. “Women been doin’ this for centuries.” She made a face. “’Sides, I ain’t giving birth on that damn train.”  She broke away from him, ran a hand down her willow tree, and he did his best to ignore how its canopy burst forth with even more catkins, how vines started to wind up its trunk. “Bein’ here is…right. Natural. I feel good here. I won’t going any further from the house than this.”

“I won’t –” he frowned. “Even with the train, be hours until I can come back to ya.” She could get word to him, possibly, through non-standard means – Hermes couldn’t go faster than the train, but she could project the thought to him with some difficulty. _Possibly_. Demeter and Zeus had both communicated with him in such a way during the war, so certainly Persephone had the capacity…but he doubted she’d ever used it and it was an ability rarely used because it took a _lot_ of power. Nor had it come naturally to her; the one time she’d been upset enough up top to come early to him, she didn’t wait for Hermes. She had walked home to talk to him herself.  He could teach her, perhaps, but it would be difficult for her to do so with her powers in such a state and would take more time than her upstairs neighbor rightly had. “Said I’d walk this road with ya. Leaving isn’t…”

“You are on this road with me.” She leaned against the tree, closed her eyes, and looked, he had to admit, entirely at home in their verdant graveyard. “You’re just doin’ what I can’t. Sides, I’ve got to go to the bathroom every twenty minutes, and ain’t like the train’s built for that.”

“You should have let me get her earlier,” he said, the poisonous regret slipping out of his mouth in a bad habit; he froze after saying it, looked up at her with what he knew had to be a panicked expression, worried she’d decide this venture  with the children was no longer worth having with him.

She, however, simply shot him a stern look. “Wasn’t her _time_ , Hades. Things supposed to come at _exactly_ the time they’re meant to.”

“Please,” he said, reduced to simply begging. “Don’t want ya to be alone, Persephone. Don’t care if we have to stop the train every twenty minutes so you can waddle  off.”

She chuckled. “Imagine what pa would make of that.” He knew what his brother would think of that; he’d be accused of being whipped by his wife, drawn under the ever-lasting dominion of Persephone’s cunt, and Zeus would laugh disbelievingly at him for pledging himself to such a foolish queendom. And it would sting, and yet, he still did not care.

“I really don’t give a damn what your father thinks, so long as you’re happy.”

She smiled and grabbed at his hand. “Well, I’m happy here. I think they are, too.” She rubbed her belly absentmindedly, and he wondered just how much she could feel of their emotions. Certainly he suspected his own mother had known very little of his.

“Happy? In a graveyard?” He hissed. “Persephone, this is…” His voice cracked, and he hated the noise of it, the thin vulnerability made bare for her to see. He curled his arms around her in concern, and she didn’t fight him off. He debated asking Thanatos to take the old biddy after all, but knew Persephone would insist he go himself. It would, he knew, certainly save time; who knew how many millions of faceless incoming dead he'd have to sort through to find her? The children could well be born before he’d found her.

“A good combo of us mommy and daddy, don’t you think?” She said, soft. “Sittin’ right between our powers, no matter which way they wind up goin'.” He hadn’t thought of it being some sort of evolutionary pull, but now he realized it was likely so, some instinct in her being driven to an intersection between their powers. That thought was in its own way, comforting. And, in its own way, concerning; she was a powerful goddess and he was beginning to realize why Rosalia  had craved flowers so badly: there was a goddess’ power tugging at her roots. He wondered how many of the mill-children were focused on botany now, and knew he’d have to check at some point. But certainly not now; they could stumble on their own for a while. Persephone was far more important.

“Either way, it’ll…it’ll be fine,” he said, stumbling over his words. “But you’re focusing on…” He tried to find a way to delicately bring up all the children they’d lost. “Our losses,” he finished, as euphemistically as possible.

She laughed, a little bitter huff, and said no more. His arms tightened reflexively. “I’m okay,” she said. “First time I haven’t hid from them in a _long_ time. It’s right, Hades. This is _right_.”

“Hm.” He didn’t let go. He didn’t quite believe it was _okay_ , from his own personal experience of ruminating a bit too much. Okay was not telling dead children stories regarding their own conceptions. Okay was not bursting a graveyard into life wearing the clothes of the dead. Okay wasn’t _anything_ that had existed in their house for literal ages.

“Don’t like the thought of it. You so far from me.” She winced at that, and was quick to correct it, but he had seen it; knew she had taken offense at it.

“You cannot control everything,” she said, the rebuke soft but still he felt it go through him like a cold blast of wind. “It’s alright, really.” She leaned back into him, her wide nest of curls lolling onto his shoulder; he took a deep breath to try to calm himself, tried to think about anything but what might happen to her while he was away. He focsed in on her hair; always so lovely. He hoped, idly, that at least one of their children would have their mother’s hair. Zagreus had – well, he thought it might have been his but who could tell, so young?He thought again of the little shade with her bright brown curls, just like hers, and felt a tinge of guilt. So much sadness. He hummed their old song in his chest, hoping to drown out his own. She hummed along to it, the melody wordless but, he thought, perfect.

“Stop being such a fussy old goat. We’ll be alright,” she said, half-whispering, eyes closed. Her arms had strength when she gripped him; he tried to concentrate on that grip, failed, worried more. “Go get Gladys, Hades. It’s time.”

“Lover,” he whispered in her ear. He debated trying to ask once more; he wanted her to come, and the idea of leaving her here pleased him not at all. He debated if she’d allow him to install a phone out here, but she was sure she would veto it, as she had so militantly in her mother’s home, and at any rate, there was no way to finish it before he left. He decided he would push his luck in a different direction; he sucked in a quick breath, then expelled it in one quick sentence before he could change his mind.

“Why don’t you think about the little one’s room? Could get some catalogs up there, or just buy you anything for those babies you want.” He tried to smile down at her, but it vanished quickly when she made an odd half-shiver in response, a slight quiver to her whole body she obviously failed to hide.

“Don’t want to worry about that, just yet,” she said, her voice so quiet he could hear a pin drop. “If they…”

He clung tighter. “We don’t have to pick anything up til they’re…here. If things don’t…I’ll take care of it. You won’t see a thing.” He kissed the tip of her head. He had learned, if nothing else, that Hadestown had not been one mistake, but an avalanche of them: keeping it when she had hated it so had hurt him, in the end. “Not a damn thing.”

“I thought you’d want to make it all.” That came out in a casual voice; deceptively so, and he knew in it that she had certainly thought of this idea as more than a passing fancy. “Like with…”

“I could do,” he said cautiously; he hadn’t built anything in millenniums, not since the first, but it wasn’t hard to put things together, and it would keep him occupied. He could always put it in the office; she wouldn’t come in too often, be easy enough to take it to the locked-up corridor when she left for springtime again if it didn’t…didn’t wind up being used. And then he’d burn it with the rest.

She took a breath, a long one: he counted it, the seconds that passed on the inhale. Watched the exhale, too: another long burst of seconds. Finally, she turned to him. “Okay. I’d like that. You makin’ a cradle and all…that.”

“Why don’t you sketch out what you’d like?” He said, trying to find something safe – sketching would put her in the house, and she’d be safe enough there. “Give me a pattern, ideas, however you want it, I’ll – I’ll do it.” He wished it was easier not to stumble on his words, though he seemingly always did with her. Nothing felt easy, and he wished – wished it was easier.

But he was trying, and maybe that was enough. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll try.”

And that was – well, that was _something_. He nodded stiffly and debated asking her if she could, perhaps, think of names for the children, or if she was ready for that – but he didn’t. That conversation hadn’t gone well in the past with the ones who had left them, and he didn’t want to put any stress on her.

If they had to be Branch, Bramble, and Thorn at their birth, so be it.

Persephone turned away, gently swaying her fingertips toward one of the older trees in their garden – a prickly juniper, a gift from one of her sisters – Artemis, perhaps? Maybe Athena, he wasn’t sure – many centuries ago. She touched the soft, prickly leaves of it and he saw it swell with fruits within moments. He watched, awed for a moment, as she struck life through the plant as effortlessly as he could kill. She looked up; surprised he was still there, he thought. 

“What are you waitin’ for?” She asked. “You keep waitin’, and they really will come before poor Gladys drifts down.”She was getting more irritated now; he could feel the snap of a frost just starting in the world above. He didn’t rise to the bait, though once upon a time, he would have.

“Alright,” he said. He took a couple of steps toward her, grabbed her hands once more. “You want anything up above? Something from your mother’s?”

“Grape juice, if she’s pressed it yet,” she said, which was certainly an atypical request. His eyes narrowed; he knew why she was asking. Closest thing she could get to her _precious_ fruit of the vine.

“Ain’t gonna ferment it,” she said, picking up on his displeasure. “Just want to have a sip, cut down the craving a bit.”

He nodded, stiffly; he didn’t like the idea, but he would do it. “Alright.”

“Tell Mama I say hello, too,” she said. “That we send _our_ love.” He tried to imagine Demeter, how she’d react to him coming without Persephone; he did not imagine it going well, especially if he said _that_. She’d probably resent him for it, as she did for so many things.

“I will tell her so,” he said, knowing it would go over as well as pouring water in a hurricane. Whatever his wife wanted, he would do it. Even if it cost him his pride.

“Good.” She rubbed her hand down his sleeve; the look on her face was…pleased. he was still getting used to seeing that again, but he delighted in recognizing it.

“Give me a kiss before I go?” He asked, and even to his own ears, his voice sounded a bit rough; she leaned upwards. Her hands touched his cheeks as she slowly touched her lips to his; it was a soft peck, a quick peck, gentle and sweet and notable only in that it was rare, as of the last century, for them to have such sweet little kisses. He grabbed her a little closer, chased her mouth for a second kiss, then a third. She separated and looked at him, eyes soft and sweet.

 “I don’t want to leave,” he admitted. “Not without you.”

“I know.” She rubbed her hands over his back. “But when you get back, we four  will be waiting for you.”

His stomach turned at that new and sudden change, not _I_ or even _we_ alone but _we four_ , his entire world quadrupled in the only measure that mattered. “Love you,” he whispered against her cheek. He added a silent caress to her belly, too, a wordless addition he was too scared to voice.

“Love you, too.” She kissed his cheek and huffed a short laugh as she gently separated from him. “Now git. So you can come home.”

There was a heaviness in her eyes he couldn’t quite read, some sort of hint perhaps that he couldn’t quite pick up.  It bothered him, but it was gone before he could comment on it.

A branch snapped somewhere in the garden, and Hades froze. Instinctively, he pulled his wife close.

“Oh, for the love of – “Persephone groused, but he shushed her, eyes tracking noise: it wasn’t Hermes. Hermes was a lot of things, but never was his footfall heavy. This person was trudging, as if they were wearing large boots or – hauling _chains_.

He closed his eyes and shuddered. He’d long feared one might rise up from the depths, and even with the whole of Tartarus closed, it was not, he knew, impossible, that one of _them_ might slip the bonds. His father had done it once. He’d closed that pathway, but he knew there were always more; his father had eternity to find ways to flex his bonds, and Hades didn’t have the privilege of scheming twenty-four hours a day in preventing him from getting free.

 _Clomp clomp clomp_ went someone’s feet: most certainly not Hermes. It was not a particularly heavy tread but in the stillness of the underworld, it was easy to hear. 

 _Everything you love will leave you_ , his father’s voice whispered, and he held out his hand and stretched for the bident and felt it come, and the helmet too. The bident he kept, the helmet he tossed to her. “If I tell you to go...” She nodded, quiet at that, and he wasn’t sure if he had offended or if she was as anxious as he was, her pot boiling over.

 _Clomp, clomp_ ; his field of vision narrowed, focusing only on movement, on Persephone’s hand lightly tugged over shoulder; safe, safe, she was _safe_. The clomping grew closer and he steadied his arm, the movement of the willow ahead shifting and – _bam!_ He pulled his body forward in one smooth motion, the tines of the bident sticking to each side of the shadow. He knew from the weight that went down that he’d struck true, and heard a soft – and feminine – wail told him that he’d caught them. He was relieved to hear it’s cry: it wasn’t father, not with that voice.

He put his foot down, firm, on the body, and looked down. And blinked. It wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Hades.” Persephone’s voice was soft, and she put a hand on his arm. “Let her up.”

The little shade from his office was hooked between the tines, her body twitching like a little automaton. He pulled the bident back. “F-f-f-f-f-f-f-“

He stomped his boot down, kicking her hard in the belly. “Hades!” Persephone did not approve, but he ignored her complaint. No shade had ever crossed his house door. No shade had gone into their private areas, _ever_. Lessons had to be taught.

She coughed, her transparent hands moving over her face; a spurious attempt, she wouldn’t be able to dry her eyes with such hands. “You dare!” He barked.

“P-P-P- _Proteggimi,_ Madonna!” She wailed; her eyes went to Persephone. “P-p-p-p-p-lease”.

“Why are you here?” He barked; he moved his heavy boot to the edge of her throat, eyes dark. He might have been a god and she might have been a mortal and a child aside, but a threat was a threat and he would _deal_ with it. He was not the wall for nothing.  

She sucked in a heavy gulp of air between crying gasps. “F-f-f-loo-w-errs. Th-th-th-ought s-s-melled…fll-ow-ers.”

He shook his head; Persephone squeezed his hand hard and he swallowed his complaints. She leaned down, a serious undertaking at this point, and slowly looked over the girl. “Let her up, Hades. She’s not a threat.”

“Persephone, we don’t –”

“ _Hades_.” She gave him a heavy look, almost thorny, and he scowled but pulled his boot away. He bent down and offered a hand; the girl scrambled away, clinging to Persephone’s skirts instead.

“Just a little girl,” Persephone said softly; she handed him the helmet and he gave her a puzzled look. She raised her eyebrows. He would concede the point that the child was not enough of a threat that they needed them; he dutifully sent their weaponry back to the armory.

Persephone, meanwhile, went to comforting the interloper. Her hand went to the girl’s heavy curls, a gesture he’d once imagined in far different circumstances, and he swallowed a bitter drag of half-hoped for dreams. “You wanna  see flowers, sweetie?”

“She’s a _shade_ ,” he drawled. He grabbed Persephone’s arm, looked in her eyes. “One who has gone where she _knows_ not to.”

“She’s a young soul. She didn’t mean to startle us.” She stroked the girl’s hair, and the girl’s hands shook as they clung tighter to her thighs. “Just a little girl who misses the life she used to have, Hades.” She turned toward the girl, hands clinging in her hair like it was _easy_. “Forgive him, little one. Our kind get…possessive, ‘specially when we’re expecting. Him and me, we’re used to dealing with bigger dangers than you.”

She smiled, all reassurance, and he clenched his hands tight. He leaned in, furious, as she stroked the girl’s hair with a motherly kindness that made his heart hurt. “You _never_ wanted her,” he hissed, cold and quiet, in her ear. “What right do you have to _play_ her mother now?”

She shot a _look_ back at him: fire-eyed, mouth pinched. “Maybe I didn’t handle things well, Hades. I won’t deny that. But right now, if she wants to look at flowers today…I don’t mind. Let her stay.”

He didn’t say anything; he didn’t like the idea. A shade who broke through borders was not a shade worth keeping around. A worker who disobeyed the rules was a danger to the entire system. A shade who was all but ready to move on didn’t need Persephone getting _attached_. The girl might not have been a threat on the face of it all, but the songbird had taught him that dangers could be far more insidious. His eyes watched Persephone’s, and she watched him. The girl huddled between them curled up, murmuring nonsense in Italian between tears, oblivious to their standoff.

“Hades, go,” Persephone said, soft. “Just go.” Despite the difficulty of the movement, she gently – so gently! – placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Hadn’t he just dreamed of that? Hadn’t he _just_? And yet he wasn’t happy, wasn’t happy at all, he felt sick to the pit of himself, wanted to yank her hand away, wanted to demand _why._ He stood mutely and did nothing as she soothed the girl, but it took every ounce of control.

“You’re alright, little one. Hale and whole. He ain’t the type to do lasting damage unless you deserve it.” A lie, that, and he gestured toward the shade’s hands wordlessly, but neither of the women took any notice. “You ain’t gotta worry; you won’t be harmed here anymore. Fact is, you’re gettin’ a promotion to my flower girl. What’s your name?”

She put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, and he saw the bolt of power sparking out of her, and his gut churned. He didn’t want her to have to use her power more, lest the children inside her needed it. “Rosalia,” he said, softly. “Her name was – is Rosalia .”

“Rosalia,” she cooed. “Pretty name.”

He felt horrible.

This was what he had wanted, so many years ago, he had wanted her to take these human shade-children, and make them theirs, and this girl had been perfect, had looked and acted the part, and yet, she had laughed at him, and she had told him _no_ , and she had told him _never_ , and now she was – what? Going to take her in? Going to use her powers to help her, and risk the children they would have for the one she rejected? Was it only a bad idea to her when _he_ suggested it? He seethed, swallowed the seething, felt confused, hurt. His expressions must have boiled over, splashing across his face, because she looked up at him with concern in those features.

“Stop worrying.” She reached out an arm – it was too hard for her to get up, he knew, would take her too long – and grabbed his waist. “We’ll talk later.” Quieter, she murmured: “It’s okay. You just bring Gladys home.”

He nodded, stiffly; he couldn’t say he felt the same, but the shade was no danger to Persephone. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it; she squeezed back. He nodded toward the shade as well, who hid her face in Persephone’s shoulder. And then he turned on his heel and went.

He fumed out of the garden, stormed out to the station, snapped his fingers. Wanted to walk back, tell her _how dare she_ but also ask _why_ she had arbitrarily taken the little worker to her side and _why_ she had scolded him for defending her and _why,_ if she hated the town, and had hated the workers, how did she find herself able to treat one so nicely? He had let them become automatons _because_ she had rejected them. She had said that he had been wrong to keep them, had ought to let them go to the great beyond. Now she said he was too harsh? For defending his territory? His _wife?_ His _children_? He stopped several times on his walk, froze, debated; was it better to go back? To watch the shade, make sure she wasn’t forcing Persephone to overcommit herself? He imagined her face: she wouldn’t be pleased. He couldn’t afford to stress her, not at this point.

Best thing to do with a spirited woman, he suspposed: let them have what they want.

He took several deep breaths to calm himself; he snapped his fingers. He would go. He would give Demeter his regards. He would take Gladys home, with considerably less joy in the trip than he’d planned in his office. Hard to remember he’d even been there today; it had to be merely an hour ago yet felt days ago. He would perform his duties to the letter, and not allow himself to fall to pieces.

He stared off into Hadestown proper as the train rumbled toward him – he’d set the line all the way to the house for Persephone’s sake, after she’d had to suffer walking home a few months prior – and wondered: was he losing control? Had the Songbird gambit proved so fatal? He’d sent those who were still able to make much of a choice to their next destinations. Those who remained either had chosen to be there, or, given how long they had been, had little choice but to continue. Or at least, he had thought that part true.

He listened to the quiet symphony of Hadestown; extended his palm to feel out the souls under his command.

Things were – calm. But, perhaps, only just. There was no uprising, and he couldn’t sense anyone else yearning for the great beyond besides the little flower-child; her sisters continued their sewing, not even noticing the little shade’s absence. They were exactly as they had been when he’d left them last. Even the mine-children seemed mostly still caught in their patterns: perhaps a bit _too_ still.

But he had a feeling that this wasn’t the end. If one of them could do it, they all could. One way or another, his new town was going to come down. He could only hope, he suspected, to make it a graceful fall.

And he had thought he would be upset by that, but the emotion within him refused to be constrained to something easy to name. He was sad the idea had not worked, and the thought of losing power he’d built was terrifying; he would miss it. But a part of him felt something else, a feather-lightness that he had not expected; and a part of him felt like an inexplicable live wire, tingling at his sleeves with an emotion he couldn’t name. He was at least comforted by the thought that things were quiet enough he did not fear leaving Persephone to her own devices while he left. It was unlikely for the riots to begin again.

Letting the boy twist in the wind had done that much. The memory of the horror inherent in  the boy’s eyes as he turned too quickly flashed in Hades’ mind, and felt sick just remembering it.

He owed Orpheus. And he would see that debt paid, some day.

Charon’s train rumbling to a stop prevented him from thinking any further on the subject for the moment. He boarded the train, tipped his head to the former ferryman.

“You look exhausted, boss,” his old cousin said, voice reedy and thin and instantly _amused_ at his dilemma as he was always so. “Didn’t think _that_ was supposed to happen for a ‘nother month or two yet.” He laughed, the laugh dry and papery. Hades shook his head but refused to reply. Charon didn’t push it. Charon knew where the line was, and rarely did he cross it.

“Where to?” He asked.

“Demeter’s.” The old boatman gave him a half-gummy smile, as if he was debating making a joke about that – and no doubt one in poor taste, knowing Charon – but his conductor knew his limits as well as the trains. Charon ultimately just tapped his hands against the wheel, opting not to give him whatever joke was on his mind.

“Well,” he said, clicking his tongue against the tip of his mouth. “Seems to me you might wish to take a nap on the way up. Doubt you’ll be having many more for a few years.” Then he laughed again; Hades flung open the door to jump between cars and slammed the old one shut behind him. The laughter followed anyway.

He walked to the back of the train; Charon, after years of running this, didn’t wait for him to sit before starting the long and heavy whistle, and the gentle force of the locomotive churned under his feet. He’d gotten good at moving on it through practice, and he walked all the way to _their_ car and stared, unhappily, at the loneliness of it all.

He closed his eyes, sat on the couch, tried to ignore that the last time he’d sat here, his wife had been tucked on his lap, with three children aside. It had been, without a doubt, the best shock of his life, but he hadn’t stopped feeling adrift since. He glanced at her bar; he’d thought it such a kind gesture a century aog. Now he wondered if it weren’t better to rip it out entirely. At the very least if they were successful, and had three live children, he’d make it a gentler thing, stock it with milk and juice and nectar mixed with sugar. He wanted that. Wanted to bounce all three on his knees while his wife smiled, wanted even the inevitable crying jags when they’d all be miserable. But it wasn’t the first time he’d had those daydreams – if perhaps the first time he’d dared to imagine them in triplicate – and his hand shook when he thought of where those dreams had brought him. He glanced towards Persephone with his mind’s eye, saw her still sitting with the girl, a trowel in her hands and the shade attentively watching. She smiled, beatific and kind, and Hades wished, more than anything, to sob.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to _go home_.

He hadn’t, technically, even left yet.  This was going to be difficult and he thought of sending Thanatos again – but he knew, too, that Persephone would be disappointed, him breaking his word just because he was anxious. She was not in danger; she would be fine. He took a deep breath, then another, then another.

He watched the underworld as it sped by him; the familiar hulk of Hadestown, then the fires of Tartarus, and the darker, inky blackness of Gaia’s own lifeblood.  He stared out into it, his anxieties rising. He poured himself a glass from her bar – wasn’t like she’d want it for at least another month, and no use letting good liquor go to waste – but it did not help him in the least. He wished he’d at least brought the paperwork over here; re-doing the numbers would have at least distracted, but he hadn’t brought _anything_ , because once again his wife had seen his plans, and once again had rejected them.

He wondered how to even approach the conversation when he got home; to say _how can you just change your mind_? seemed too stressful; to say _I brought this to you before, and you hated it_ seemed factual but judgmental. Better to say nothing at all; if she wanted the little shade to sleep under his roof, well, that was fine. He would simply bottle his feelings up, as he had done so many times in the past. He wouldn’t mind Rosalia as a daughter; she could serve many roles if need be.

The ground rumbled underneath him as he sipped at his glass. He put it down at the bar, tapped at his pocket for his glasses; pulled them on as they broke through the crust of the ground.   He stared at his reflection in the window: white-haired old man, haggard-faced even with the sunshades hiding so much of his face. He shook his head, looked away.

He sipped at the whiskey, telling himself it was only an outing. It would be fine. It would take, perhaps, a few hours at most. He would bring the train in; he would let the judges deal with the souls, and he would take her mother’s words and her midwife’s soul back to his wife. And she would be happy, and then they’d discuss the little shade, and then that would be the very end of it, and he could rest easy and…try to figure out how to keep his empire from crumbling at his feet.

He tapped his feet and waited for what felt like an eternity, though he knew the ride to Demeter’s was not so long. He glanced with his mind’s eye back at Persephone – still fine, laughing with the little shade, sitting on a bench now, a soft smile on her face. She was fine. The children were fine. The shade-child was not a threat.

It would all be _fine._

He failed to convince himself of that, however, as he sat, ill-minded, sipping on his whiskey and waiting for the infernal train to stop. It seemed like an eternity until Charon blew the whistle again. He braced for impact out of habit as Charon hit the brake. The second he felt the kickback, he stood up and opened the door, jumped out onto the ghostly station that surrounded Demeter’s new-found homeland.

There were plenty of dead souls milling about, waiting for the train line to take them down the line; he threw open the door of the train and gestured toward it. In ages past, he might have given a speech to them, instructed them. But he had given up on that as other concerns had blossomed into his mind, and certainly today he was not feeling _any_ need or desire to give any long speech. It all fell on deaf ears anyway. The dead only had one destination.

He stormed off, not bothering to say anything to Charon; the man would wait for him. Centuries of working together had taught him the other man’s habits as much as his own: Charon would wait, and tap his fingers, and grumble about the piercing sunlight, and think river-thoughts until Hades came to tell him to reverse the line and bring them home.

He walked quickly to Demeter’s home, unapologetically stomping over dried bits of grass and other plants as he hurried to her door. He’d stop there first; he’d learned, from past mistakes, what had happened when he ignored his elder sister. Besides, it was the part of the trip he was least looking forward to, and if it took her time to press grapes – because, absolutely, he thought, she would grant Persephone’s request, whether they were ready or not – it gave him an escape route. A vital task. Demeter could quibble with many things; she could not quibble with him doing his job.

It was quiet at her old clapboard; he could only sense one bright god-presence there. Supposed her other children weren’t around; that was just as well. Less awkward small talk.

He rapped on the door, four staccato knocks. She would know it was him from that, no need for second sight.

The door remained shut. He supposed that was a welcome all its own, and a chilly one. He waited a moment more, then another, then another. Finally, he nodded toward the door; if she didn’t want to receive him, that was _fine_ , he could tell his wife he tried, and he took one step off her porch, swinging his hands down and gazing about for the soul that was, he knew, soon to be his.

He heard the creak of the door open behind him and froze. Turned. Demeter was there in a plain tan jacket, already looking unamused, her pinched mouth held tight. She cleared her throat. “Didn’t – didn’t think you were answering,” he said, stumbling in his words. Demeter had a way of always making him feel like the little boy chasing at her skirts, though it was a long time since their relationship had been such for either of them. She leaned against the doorframe, folded her arms.

“Was out back in the kitchen. I _should_ leave you in the cold,” she said, but stood aside, motioning with her head toward her little living room. “But come in.”

He nodded warily and took three quick steps in before he could convince himself not to. It was a nice house, he had to admit, warm house; Demeter clearly had the oven on because he could smell something baking.

“She comin’?” Demeter asked; she gestured toward a seat. He sat.

“No.” He shook his head and Demeter sucked in a harsh breath.

“She okay?” There was tension in her old frame, and he knew, even with barely seeing her in so many thousands of years, exactly how to read it. He supposed he could not blame her; her daughter had been through the metaphorical ringer with their pregnancies and he knew she, as most, expected he would only show up when something was wrong. He hadn’t done much to dispel that impression.

“She’s alright,” he said, putting both hands out in front of him. “Just starting to go on the fritz a bit.”

“Now?” Demeter pressed her mouth into a line and he knew, once again, that he had disappointed her. “So soon?”

“Just started today.” Demeter sat in the chair opposite him – they mutually avoided the couch, he noticed, as neither of them particularly wanted to sit next to the other – and leaned forward. He had a feeling she was studying him. He let her but did not particularly like the feeling. After a couple of awkward moments, she ran a hand through her grey hair and sighed.

“Suppose it’s likely she’s jus’ a bit further along than I thought,” Demeter said, a cautious edge in her voice. “You two being…” She faded off. He debated telling her he knew the date of their conception down to the hour, and opened his mouth; the thought that came next, that he would have to tell his elder sister that her grandchildren had been conceived in her backyard, made him shut it.

“Well…” He scrambled for words. “She’s a big girl now.” He looked for one of the pictures he’d taken – one of the two he’d forced her to sit for – and handed it to her.

“Look at that,” she whispered, and there was something holy in her eyes, a flicker of bittersweet sadness that he knew all too well. She stroked at the paper, and he knew he had to give it to her. He had the negative; he could print another.  

“Keep it,” he said. She nodded, no thanks given, but then he did not expect any. He watched her thumb at the portrait gently for a long while.

“Not long,” she said, finally, her voice a little froggy; he didn’t comment on it. “You ready?”

“Yes. No. I’m…” He pressed his lips together, shrugged. “We’re working on it.”

“Getting along?” She raised her eyebrows, both of them, and he knew in that look that Persephone had no doubt told her mother ever little petty argument they’d had for the last eon.

“Yes.” He stared at her, and she stared back. After a minute of neither blinking, Demeter backed down, leaned back in her chair.

“That’s good, that’s good.” She chuckled. “Won’t lie, didn’t think that were gonna happen.”

“Well.” He tapped his foot against the floor in agitation once, twice, enjoyed the loud crack of noise from it. It was always Demeter’s way to underestimate him, and he was growing tired of it. “I’ve always cared for her, Deme. Even fighting, I’ve – I’ve always _cared_.”

The old childhood nickname brought something out in her, a spark of something like righteous indignation; she took a deep breath, held it, let it go. “Ain’t never been about your _carin_ ’. It’s about your pig-iron stubbornness, is what it is.” She put her hand over her head, shook her big cloud of hair. “It’s never been that I didn’t think you _thought_ you loved her.”

He felt the dagger go deep, and bristled. “I am what I am, Deme. Her _husband_. And I…” The latter part of the sentence was uncomfortable, but he forced it out. ”I – I do, I mean – I always have, Deme.” He ad loved her all his life from the moment he had first seen her, a teenage girl spraying garlands into fields and forests; he had loved her far longer, he wanted to point out, than Zeus had loved Demeter. And certainly no matter how tumultuous their marriage, he had loved Persephone in a kinder way than his other brother had loved Demeter, treating her as some part-time slattern whose children had a _startling_ resemblance to him. But such would be a disastrous quibble, he knew, and he held in his venom. “I _love_ her.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “Father below only knows how,” she said, and he drummed his fingertips against her chair. He didn’t need this.

“I didn’t come here to be mocked or insulted,” he grumbled. Her face softened for half a second, then she leaned forward in her chair, held out one hand toward him.

“Sorry.” He took the olive branch she offered, warily; if Persephone glanced up at him, she’d be pleased to see it, them holding hands. She had always wanted them to get along and they had, he knew, often disappointed her. “I know, I know. It’s old news now.  You’ve been married a long time, and been together longer than that. It’s not somethin’ that’s going to change, and I have to accept it. And I am tryin’ to bury my feelings on the matter, in light of the recent news. But it is _not_ easy for me, Hades. Been a long time I’ve had this habit.”

“It is not easy for me, either,” he mumbled. He held Demeter’s constant wailing against her – she had not thought him good enough for her daughter, and that insult had hit him deep.  He still didn’t understand it, and never would: so what that he was older? Perhaps they’d married a bit young for her, but she had been nearly a decade older than the age a mortal maiden forsook Artemis and her ilk. Every major event in their relationship, well, it had been Persephone who made the first move. Even if he had played the thief, robbed her from her cradle, the event was long past and the girl in question was hardly dubious in her consent. Certainly no matter what Demeter thought of their courtship, she could not deny he had cared for the woman, done husbandly duty in providing for her. Nor could she deny they had remained together not for a year, a decade, or even centuries but centuries upon centuries.

And yet it still was not enough.

“I know.” She squeezed his hand once with a loud sigh. “We both hold our grudges, don’t we?”

He didn’t bother to respond, and, after a minute, she dropped her hand, neatly standing and brushing out the skirt of her homespun harvest-green dress.

“What are you here for, anyway?” She said, folding her arms. “Doubt you’ve come to just say _hello_. Ain’t never been your style, the chit-chat.”

“Business.” He caught the way she nodded when he said it – she’d been anticipating the answer. “And— “

“It’s Gladys, isn’t it?” She folded her arms up around herself; building her own walls, he knew. He nodded, once. “Ah, I knew it was soon. Her heart…” Demeter’s voice wobbled, and he froze, debating on what was an appropriate gesture: should he try to place a hand around her shoulder, as a brother perhaps should? Or offer his sympathies, though surely as a being made of death, the sympathies rang hollow? He settled for pulling out his handkerchief and offering it to her.

She took it, dotted her eyes. “Thanks. She is – was – a good friend. I will miss her.” She handed it back to him. “Nice of ya to come in…person. I’ll check in on her in a couple hours, report it so – so her body doesn’t linger.”

He nodded once, stiffly. He debated asking if she’d like to come along, but knew Demeter well enough to know how she’d react to that – for her, it would not be a kindness. Instead, he pivoted to a way she knew she would be useful. “That would help. I’ll be taking her down quickly– Persephone wants her as…well, seems she’s most comfortable with her as a midwife.” He didn’t disagree. Given their prior…issues, someone who had knowledge of crib death was preferable to someone who didn’t.

“Well, that’s a comfort then. She’ll be with someone she knows – and doing something she loves.” Demeter stepped back and he rose. “She’s good,  ya know. As a midwife.”

“You would trust her with Persephone?”

“Yes.” That meant something, he knew; they didn’t get along, but Demeter wouldn’t ever hurt her daughter to get back at him. “More than Artemis or Eileithyia, to tell it true. Eileithyia is just Hera’s little puppet, and Artemis…” She winced. “I wasn’t nice to her mama, back when. Not as bad as Hera, but I certainly didn’t extend a hand in her troubles. Doubt she’s forgotten.”

“None of us did.” He shook his head. He hadn’t focused on Zeus’ nonsense at the time, nor would he have had much of a good opinion of it had he done so. But he supposed, in Artemis’ mind, that inaction would make him as complicit as anyone else.  He hadn’t detected any malice from Artemis for her sister – by all accounts they enjoyed each other’s company– but he was feeling paranoid enough not to want to take any risk, no matter how small, with children who were dangerously close to _miraculous_ in his mind. “She’ll be treated well, you know, your neighbor. We’ll make sure she remembers who she was.”

“Glad of that.” She said, and hesitated; there was an obvious question on her mind, but she didn’t voice it.

“Demeter,” he mumbled; he was going to do something foolish, perhaps, but the gains if he was successful – well, it would make his wife damn happy. “Would you like to ride down with me? Awful close to time. I – I won’t mind if you want to come. Sure your friend would prefer it.” And certainly he’d enjoy not having to converse with either of them.

She stared at him a long moment; there was a shadow that crossed her face that he hadn’t seen for a long time, something skirting dangerously close to affection.

“I can’t,” she said, and he sighed. What was it with the _Anesidora_ women going completely against whatever he wished today? At least he could say Persephone came by her stubbornness naturally.

“Don’t you give me that guff.” She turned away from him, looking out the windows toward her fields. “Ya got her down there, and there’s still parts of the world that need growing and sowing. When I go down, it’ll all _stop_. Can’t will it to go on while I’m gone, any more than you can will people not to die while you’re here.”

“So you ain’t gonna come at all…?” Instead of good news, now he supposed he’d be giving his wife bad. Typical. Just typical of Demeter, wouldn’t do _one thing_ to help him if she could spit on him instead. “That’ll break her heart, _Deme_.”

“Ain’t said that,” she snapped; she whirled back on him. “Fact is, I’d go right now, let 'em have a little _cold snap_ , but since _somebody_ couldn’t keep it in his pants for the last century or so, well, we’ve been hurtin’, _Dis_. And maybe _you_ don’t care about that, but she does.” Demeter’s nostrils flared; a sure sign she was fixing for a fight, and he was getting dangerously close to wanting to give her one. She jabbed a finger into his chest, and he withheld himself from grabbing it. “I gotta keep the balance. So no, I am goin’ to sit and goin’ to wait until it’s…time, thank you. Then I will come. Assuming you don’t quibble about _that_.”

“I said you could come,” he muttered. “Stay as long as you _like_.” He tried not to argue, strode six steps across her floor, strode back, trying to keep himself focused.

“You still pace like that, huh?” Demeter clicked her tongue and he looked back at her; her expression was amused. He couldn’t fathom how she could switch hot to cold so quickly; seasonal, he thought. His sister was so damn _seasonal_.

 “I used to think if the oxen didn’t go, I’d just give you a quandary and yoke ya. You’d furrow the fields in a minute and a half.” She took a step forward; she put out her hand and it took everything he had to not slap it away. He exhaled and forced himself to go still. “Funny,” she said, quietly. “Sometimes, I think I know you so well. Sometimes, I don’t think I know you at all.”

“I’m your brother.” He flared his nostrils, still pissed and not really able to direct it anywhere. “That should have—should have always been enough.”

She nodded; a shadow of something crossed her face; her eyes went down and he wondered for one long moment if she would apologize, and if he would take it. But she didn’t apologize, just grazed his hands with her hands and swallowed.

“Suppose I shouldn’t keep ya.” She smoothed down her skirt again and swallowed. “Thanks, for – for stoppin’ by.”

“Well.” He rocked back on his heels. “Had another message to deliver. Persephone is requestin’ a bit of your grape juice, if you’ve mussed it yet.”

She stared warily at him, took a step back. “I ain’t. But you mean grape _juice_ , or the paint thinner she’s been trying to pass off as wine?”

“The former.” He tried to console her, squeezed her hand. “She’s been – been trying to stop.”

“You think I don’t know?” Demeter snorted and tossed his hand aside like so much trash. “That girl spent more time in my toilet the last nine months than anywhere else. Wasn’t _you_ who nursed her through that.”

That went through him like a gut-punch, and he felt his power ripple out of him, a stubborn flare of his damn pride. “Only,” he said through gritted teeth. “Only from _lack_ of opportunity.”

Demeter gave him an unreadable look. “Think she needed the time,” Demeter drawled. “Wasn’t easy on her. The drink or the –”

“Look, she doesn’t want to drink. Just wants – just wants a little something to take the edge off. A few crushed grapes is harmless, ain’t it?”

“We’ll see.” Demeter looked skeptical and he wanted to growl, to demand her to believe in a future he was afraid to believe in himself. “Hope it’s so, hope it’s so.”

She glanced behind her toward her kitchens. “Don’t got it ready but…I can get a bottle done ‘fore you get her soul down the line. You stop by the back ‘for you run down; I’ll get it done.”

“I can pay –“She waved a hand, shutting him down.

“You’re family.” She shrugged. “You can make it up for me sometime when something breaks down on the farm. Still as stubborn as on ox, I figure you’re probably still strong as one, too.”

“I – thank you.” He thought. He wasn’t entirely sure that was a compliment, but it was an attempt at one, and he wasn’t so stubborn as to be unthankful. “You want me to bring her by, or…?”

She hesitated a moment; quiet. It was always like this. Their kind knew the mortals wouldn’t live so long as themselves, but the concept of death made them profoundly uncomfortable. She would want to avoid confronting it, if they had to be.

“Suppose if it’s unavoidable… ” she said, but her distaste was clear. “If you would…perhaps Charon?”

He nodded, disappointed but not surprised. Never would admit that death had a power over them all, in the end. To do so would be to accept even their old, long life-threads would one day be cut.

“I will go, then, and return when it's…settled,” he said.

She nodded and he turned to leave; Demeter to his surprise walked to his side and threw her arms around him. He did not know quite what to do and stiffened, staying still.

“Take care of her,” Demeter said, voice barely half a whisper. He wasn’t sure which her she was referencing, but either way it was an easy promise.

“I will.” He patted at her back awkwardly, centuries of playing cloak and dagger making it damn awkward to hold her even remotely comfortably.

He broke away and nodded; she returned the gesture, nodding steadily and slowly – as their father, once, had done. That knowledge made him uncomfortable, and he walked quickly away, not bothering to say goodbye for the moment.

He thought perhaps he should have asked which way to go, but as he let his senses flow outward, the predator in him recognized it; the familiar scent of a burning wick, candlewax all but gone.

He walked down the path past Demeter's, hearing her clattering in her gardens but unwilling, after their thorny tête-à-tête, to look and risk seeing her. It was only about a mile later that he found another ramshackle house. Like Demeter it was nothing ostentatious; the yellow paint was peeled with what looked like a good fifty years of entropy working against it. He knocked on a worn and shaky door and waited.

It took a long time.  He heard the heavy shuffle of a woman who he did not find _sprightly_ at last meeting but certainly not so _creaky_. Her hands finally fumbled with her locks and when she saw him, she grinned.

“Clyde!” She was breathing heavy and he heard it at every gasp; not long at all. He would be relieving her suffering. “Our little Cora’s _mari_.”

“Quite.” He nodded toward her and smiled as charmingly as he could. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” She shuffled – painfully slowly – away from the doorway. He touched her shoulder as he entered and gave one quick _tug_. No need to make her suffer a minute more. Her soul came away easy, floating by her while her body slammed to the floor. He didn’t let her notice, striding to one of her long-faded chairs, as burdened by entropy as everything else in this realm. Her spirit floated alongside, unawares.

“Lord,” she said, wrinkling up her little spirit face. “Lord. I ain’t felt this light in _years_. You must be good luck for me.”

“Suppose some might think me so.”

“Our Cora thinks it’s so. How is she doin'? She was a big girl last I saw. Whole kit and caboodle you put in there.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Older men never wait long after a marriage, you know. Always eager with a young bride, hm hm? Why, I remember the first time I saw that girl…” Gladys shook her head confused. “No, that’s not right. First time I saw that girl I was…I was…just a girl. How could I…?”

She realized it, he thought, awful quick. She glanced toward the door and laughed, a skittish little thing. “Oh.” She barked another laugh, looking at the pitiful, crumpled up form of her body. “Oh boy, you sure ain’t a _Clyde_ , are ya, Seigneur?.”

“No.” He clasped his armchair, surprised she had gotten the hang of it so quickly. Most mortals struggled. Of course, most mortals hadn’t grown kitty-corner to two goddesses. “No.”

“And that’s just…that’s the end?” She shook her head. “All them years being afraid and here I go and let Mr. Death come in off the porch myself. How’d I go? That…” she tapped her spirit-shoulder. “That do it?”

“Your heart gave out. Would have at that moment regardless of what I did. Just didn’t…didn’t let you feel the pain of it.”

“My, my.” She clucked her tongue. “ And to think I was gonna offer you some _pie._ Doubt I could even _serve_ a slice of shoofly now.”

“Not here.” He shook her head. “Not anymore.” He didn’t apologize for it, though the slightly mournful look on her face clearly suggested that he should, in her estimation.

“I am a bit sad,” she said with a soft sigh. “To not seein' those babies. Never did deliver triplets.”

“That,” he said, “is something you may still do.”

“What?” She looked confused at that, and after a moment of internal debate, he figured it was best to simply say it plain.

“She is a goddess, and you may devote yourself to her service, if you like.” He slowly extended a hand, formed a bright coin. “The choice is yours.”

“And if I were to take this choice, I just pick up the coin?”

“Yes.”

A spark flickered across her eyes; nervousness. “Is it forever?” She asked, quietly. “Helpin’ miss Cora? I know how to birth babies but...” Unspoken, of course, was that was perhaps not all she wanted to do with her afterlife.

“That’s up for you to decide.” He shrugged. “There’s a lot of options. We talk it over when – when you’re ready. Whenever that is.” Though, that said, he damn sure hoped it would be soon. He held his hand closer to her. _Take the coin_ ; he was eager to get home.

“Welll…when Miss Cora doesn’t need me anymore, could I work with her Mama?” He opened his mouth to automatically say _no_ ; it wouldn’t work that way.

“She can see you downstairs,” he said, as civilly as he could. “She will come visit, time to time.” _Maybe_.

“ _Mon Dieu_ , and all this time,” the spirit chuckled. “You know, twenty years she been tellin’ me her girl has some seasonal factory job. And now I find out ain’t so much a factory at all.”

“Well, it is…necessary, in our roles.” He was already dreading the woman’s tongue; she seemed of a desire to prove loquacious and he held no desire to explain Hadestown’s origins to her. “Have you made a choice?”

“I’m coming,” she said, grabbing the coin. “My _Maman_ used to say, God closes a door, God opens a window. Figure this must be my window.” She gave him a long look-over. “ _Maman_ never said there was more than one god, but, well –“ She smirked. “I can grasp it. Now, never woulda guessed one of ‘em would be a little colored ladies like Cora and her mama but I am...I am _damn_ thankful to know that much. Vindication, you know? No offense to a man as pale as yourself, but...They're good goddeses, ain't they? Important?”

“Very good,” he said; that subject, at least, he could boast about. "Two of hte most important in the whole world."

“She well, little Cora?” He nodded and held out his hand; the shade took it.

They walked back to the station mostly talking of his wife, and despite the enjoyable subject he was all too glad to hand her back to Charon, who seemed slightly less than enthused to be taking on a new passenger without him.

“You’re going back to yer sister's?” He raised his eyebrows. “Now? Bit late to butter up to the missus, eh? You already got her –” He mimed a rather crude approximation of a pregnant woman, then burst out laughing.

“Just for a moment,” he barked. “You’ll _wait_.”

“Wouldn’t dream of making _you_ walk, boss.” Charon nudged him and he ignored it, shoving the man off him and sliding out the door before Gladys could ask him a million questions regarding the train and its uses. It was a sort of revenge of his own, he supposed; Charon would be forced to endure the old woman’s impossibly chatty questions.

He was getting impatient, and his strides back to Demeter’s were quick as could be. He wanted to go home; the sooner they left, the sooner he could give his wife her midwife and relax into his wife’s arms and be relieved that he was, one again, by her side.

By the time he reached her door, he was surprised to find Demeter wasn’t there; he’d thought, perhaps, that she would meet him half-way, or at least have the grape juice he’d requested waiting.  He rapped again; again there was no answer, and he sighed as he waited, pacing over her steps. He wanted to _go_.

It took Demeter an age to open the door, ushering him in with nothing but a wordless jut of her head. He debated asking if it was ready yet, but she looked irritated, and so he said nothing, simply closing the door behind him.

She stalked off to the kitchen and he followed, unsure if it was unexpected but figuring with his sister that he would get flack if it was not. Demeter had a large amount of grape must boiling away; she went to mushing it with a large ladle with what he would call almost aggressive stabbing. “You get her?” She asked, brusque; he nodded, then, realizing she didn’t bother to turn to him, voiced it.

“Yes. On the train, now.” He put his hands in his pocket, rocked back on his heels. “Said she’d help Persephone deliver.”

“Good, good.” She glanced at him, eyes cool, and he knew without a word leaving her mouth that what she said next would be a form of a test. “Ya gonna ask Artemis or Eileithyia to come too? Supervise?”

“No.” At least this was an easy one. “They came a couple times; checked her out. Said everything’s fine, and that’s enough for me. But for the actual delivery, think she’d prefer her Mama.”

Demeter smiled; he’d passed her test on that one. “Well. Big event, these kiddos.” She strained the mush of grapes and tossed the remainder, then threw the cheesecloth with a rather loud _thwack_ into the sink. “Wash that later.”

He watched her carefully as she spooned the juice into a glass bottle; handed it to him and he was surprised to find it warm.

“You give that to her. And you give her my love, understand?” Demeter looked hard at him, as if trying to see him true.

“She will receive it.” He bent his head; he grasped the bottle, uncomfortable with her gaze and looked out toward the window, seeking something to focus on that wasn’t his sister’s judgment.

There was a tree down in her backyard; an old Cypress, big enough it might have been just old enough to have been standing when Demeter bought this new farm a good two centuries ago. “You lost a tree,” he muttered.

“A couple of weeks ago,” Demeter grunted. “Lightning storm. Figured that was one of you and hers little …dust-ups.”

“No,” he said, quiet, still staring. A tree sacred to him, marked by lightning, on her mother’s sacred grounds. He wasn’t fool enough to not recognize what that was: he squared his jaw and looked at Demeter. “You got plans for the wood?”

“Just for the fireplace. But be years ‘til I get through that thing.”

“Would you be willin’ to part with some of the wood?” He asked, smoothly. His hand fished into his coat pocket for his wallet while she looked at him like he lost his damn mind.

“You manufacturin’ toothpicks down in that hole now? Least I heard it was steel drums and automobiles.” Of course, Persephone had kept her updated. He doubted there was much she _hadn’t_ told Demeter.

“For a cradle,” he said, soft.

“Oh.” She glanced oddly at him, snorted. “Surprised you ain’t got that yet. Thought you’d be the type to have it all ‘fore you swallowed her down into that pit.”

“Well.” He shrugged. He didn’t much feel like going into all the reasons why they’d proved skittish, so much so Persephone didn’t even want clothing meant for a pregnant woman, lest she be forced to have such a painful reminder lurking in her closet. He pivoted to a safter platitude. “Things come in their time.”

“Now you sound like her,” she nodded. “Sure. It’s yours. I’ll send it down with Hermes.” He raised his eyes in surprise; she clucked her tongue. He would have thought she’d insist he pick it up himself.

“You look like you want to fly out the room. And you should.” Demeter looked away, sighed. “Sure she misses ya.”

He swallowed, well aware that this was her attempt to get along with him. He hoped it was true that Persephone was missin’ him, but was afraid to look until he was on the train, until he was on his way back to her. “Until…”

“Yeah. Run your train, I’ll be ready.” She looked out toward the train thought it was, of course, far too far away for her to see it. “Tell my girl I love her, you hear?”

“Course.” He hesitated a long second, sighed. “Send our love too, you know.”

“ _Our_ , huh?” she said; he didn’t bother to rise to the bait.

“Goodbye, Deme,” he said; she nodded, chuckled, and gave him her goodbyes as he the same nervously ducked out. He managed to walk until he was out of her earshot; after that, he bolted, jogging to the train. Charon tossed him a mischievous smile, but he cut off the man before he could get yet another joke at his expense.

“Let’s go,” he said; the tone brooked no argument.  

He strode back toward the train, walking back to the tail end of the trail quickly. He stowed Persephone’s juice in the luggage rack, and sat back near his new midwife – not that he wanted to, but he knew Persephone would react coldly if he left her alone.

“Mr – uh – “Gladys wrinkled her nose, staring at him. “ _Mon Dieu_ , I don’ t know what to call you, monsieur. Do you have a name?”

“Well,” he drawled. “I have many names. Hades will do for now, I think.” Nice, plain, simple. Persephone could not quibble, and he wouldn’t grow annoyed of hearing it for a couple months.

“Alright.” She frowned, looking out the window. “Where are we goin’, anyway, Mr. Hades? Don’t know much about where god – er, someone like _you_ might live.” She cocked her head to the side as she took in the sight of the train going down under the ground and he knew this was likely only the start of the questions he’d be peppered with.

“Deep down,” he said. “Deep down under the ground.”

She took that in, blinked, fired off another question: “It dark down there?”

“At times.” Her eyes widened; he gestured, wordlessly, to one of the mine lights as they passed; she gaped at it, then peppered him with another question.

“What sort of livin’ arrangements is there? Is there people there, sides Cora and yourself?” She glanced about them at the other ghosts, milling in various train cars. “These all – they don’t all live with you two, right?”

He answered, pivoting into telling her a bit about the underworld, and listened, with some regret, to her six thousand _other_ questions. He answered as dutifully as he could for the first hour, but by the second he had started to answer in _yeses_ and _nos_ , and he could not resist, at long last, as the Styx came into view, sliding his consciousness toward Persephone. He opened his mind’s eyes and looked for her – ah, there.

He saw her with the shade, still; they were at the edge of the Lethe, Persephone pointing to the water and – _they were at the edge of the Lethe_. _Quite_ far from their home; she had said she wouldn’t leave and she had, and if she went in the water… He swallowed. There was no telling what would happen. Lethe was for rebirth, and while she was immune, the children… Persephone glanced directly toward him; he thought perhaps she had felt his eyes on her, as she smiled toward him. Hades bolted up. “Excuse me,” he muttered, cutting off the midwife in what was sure to be a particularly boring question as to what sort of looms were used in the mills – and ran his way to the engine room.

“Was wondering when that biddy would scare you up here,” Charon said, a particularly ugly snort following it. He was in no mood to respond to such petty insults, and as such he merely waved a hand, dismissing it.

“Stop the train.”

“What?”

“Stop. The. _Train_!” They were close to Styx now, he could see it, could see the thick wall that cut off the dark caverns beyond from the interior of the town itself – Lethe was not that much further beyond, and if he threw the brake now – Charon hit it and he grabbed the wall, feeling himself jostle, and was thankful that the spirits could not be injured. It was not an easy landing.

“What the -?”  Charon asked, but he was already off the train, already stalking toward the Lethe, more worried than anything else, his gut a churning mass; he heard the old biddy hop off behind him, her voice a confusing morass of questions – _We at the chateau? Mon Dieu this doesn’t look like any home I know, where’s Cora, she really live in this? Lord alive –_ he tuned it out. He walked fast, not particularly caring if he lost the old midwife – she was part of his domain now, he’d find her eventually – and made a beeline for the shore.

Persephone turned toward him; she had found him first, and well she might, given how much noise he was making in his huffing and puffing. He’d almost made it to her by the time she managed to waddle her way up to him, but she ran the last few steps as best she could.

“What are you --?”

She put her finger on his lips, smiling as if nothing was wrong, as if she had simply somehow _misplaced_ herself. Rosalia was kneeling at the banks, transfixed; she poked at it experimentally, and he knew she must have gone a good shade closer to feral. He bit back the urge to growl in his throat, simply throwing his arms around Persephone, whose arms, in turn, tightened around him.

“You said,” he murmured, huffing into her ear – running had left him out of breath. “You’d not go further than the garden. You _promised_.

She looked unperturbed; she brushed his hair – sweaty now – away from his brow and smiled. “We had a little talk and the moment was right. She’s ready to go on, but…She needs help getting in the water.”

“You couldn’t have waited?” The poison leaked out of him, quicker than he’d like. “What if you fell in? What if -” She shed him again and gently weaked his chin.  

“Shh. I’m sorry. Been a while since I last did this, suppose I might have gotten carried away, but I had, Look at her.” She grabbed his hand and gently squeezed it. “She’s ready, Hades,” she said. She bit her lip, and he wondered if she felt as guilty for the girl’s fate as he did; they had both played their parts, in a way. He’d taken her soul; she’d rejected the afterlife he’d chosen for her.

“Please help her,” she said, soft, and her voice was thick, and he knew his suspicion was right. He nodded and slowly shrugged his jacket off; they could talk about her leaving after she said she wouldn’t later.

“Mon Dieu!” The midwife’s spirit finally caught up to them; he suppressed a wince as she stormed over. “Cora! You were holding out on me!”

“A bit,” she admitted. “A bit.”

“Look at you!” She thundered; she embraced Persephone with a clinging verve and he leaned down toward the girl pokin’ the water.

“You talk with my wife?” He reached out to touch her shoulder; she winced and nodded.

“Not – not afraid.” She was talking easily; Persephone must have given her some of her powers. She sucked in a bold breath. “I want to – to try again.”

He nodded. “You understand what that means? You’ll forget everything. Not just this place, but everything before.”

She looked at him, determined and serious as she always was. “Yes, _Pater_. I am ready.”

“Well, it’s goodbye then.” He tried to smile but she did not return it; he supposed kicking her had ruined what relationship they had once held. “For now.”

He swirled his hand in the water; her eyes stayed on his hand, fascinated, and he knew she truly was ready.

“Take a drink.” She put her hands together, sipped at the liquid. She went dull almost immediately; face exhibiting confusion for a half-second and then placidity. She closed her eyes, half-dreaming, and even having not done this ceremony for a good twenty years, the soft-hummed song of the underworld that floated out of her mouth was familiar to his ears. He followed it with his own deep voice and slowly slid into the Lethe; it could not harm him. He would not forget; this, he knew from bitter experience.

He held out a hand and the girl took it, her small hand so tiny on his own. He tugged her in.

“Can you float?” He asked; the shade held out her arms – already fading, she was going – and he put a hand on her shoulder.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “Drift and relax.” She did so. He opened his mind’s eye, scanned the connections from the eternal river to the world above: Lethe provided, as always, a myriad of options; he scanned through each briefly, seeking a place agreeable to the girl-spirit. Technically, it was a bit beyond what he should offer, but well – he had taken twenty years of her time, finding a vision that seemed agreeable to her seemed the least he could do.

“What’s all this now?” Gladys said somewhere in the background; he ignored her, focusing on the images in front of him, scanning and scanning the streams floating from the world above until he found – _flowers_. A field of lilies near the girl’s new home, yes, that would do; he grabbed her spirit and gently nudged it to the proper stream. That those lillies could be in any garden - even his own - he was careful not to acknowledge. 

She smiled, radiant. “That’s for you,” he said. “See the light? Go for the light, little one.” He held onto her as she faded towards the upperworld, her body going more and more translucent, and then the light was gone. 

And so was the girl.

He looked up at Persephone as he started climbing out of the river-muck; her eyes were wet and he was surprised to find she was crying. By the time he was out of the water she had her arms wrapped around him, and he found his around her. Gladys looked at them both and he gave her a steely glance 'til she looked away.

“Hey,” he muttered. “ _Hey_. What-?”

“Been a while,” she murmured. “Since I seen you like that. It’s a good look. Miss when you did that.”

Then she kissed him, and he wanted to protest that he was soaking wet, and he wanted to protest that they were not alone, but it was the sort of kiss that was so long gone as to become new again, the sort that made his toes curl against his heavy boots, and he did not find himself anything so much as stunned. “Like that look,” she murmured as she parted.

He put his head over hers, his chin resting against her forehead for a good long while. Only the biddy eventually made him clear his throat and open his eyes, breaking the connection. “Brought you your juice. And the midwife,” he said. “Bottle’s in the luggage rack.” And a good thing he’d put it there too – he doubted it would have survived otherwise.

“That girlie – she comin’ back?” Gladys interjected, ruining the moment; he shook his head.

“Gone on to her next step,” he said. Persephone, he noticed, looked down; she put her hand across his hips.

“Was a nice girl,” she said. “Awful nice.” Her eyes flickered toward him, and he caught a sort of hope there. “Did you…?” One hand touched her belly, and he knew what she was asking:

He shook his head. “Kept it a surprise,” he said. “For us all.”

“Oh.” She leaned up against him and he looked down at her. “Wanna ride the train back home?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” She put her hand in his, and he thought, it felt right.

* * *

It took them a short but somehow seemingly eternal amount of time to make it back to the station; his wife chatted with her midwife about more minutiae of pregnancy, and he was satisfied to half-listen to the women’s chatter, whilst watching Hadestown in the distance. He wondered how long the old walls would remain standing. Another probe of his hand outwards had revealed no other changes – thankfully enough – but he knew it was only a matter of time. If one changed, they all would eventually.

But the train arrived back at their home long before he came to a satisfactory answer.

He excused himself quickly, changing out of his wet clothing for drier clothes; Persephone gabbed enough for both of them with the midwife, and he knew that for better or worse, Persephone wouldn’t be alone without him around again. By the time he returned, Persephone was showing the woman his admittedly impressive library. some“I can use this?” the midwife said, eyes wide as she took in their books. He had, he knew, quite a collection; inevitable given how long he spent time alone.

“Course you can,” Persephone said, and he supposed he would have to share, for the time being.

“Think I’d like to look here for a while. Been a long time since I’ve been able to read without my cheaters, and _Mon Dieu_ , those glasses, they were always slipping. I’ll find my way back to my room, don’t worry.” Gladys gave Persephone a little wink, and he realized that his wife had, perhaps, somewhat set this up. Still, when Gladys all but shooed them out of the room, Hades was, for once, was all too happy to be shooed.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he said, wanting privacy. Persephone nodded; he could tell from her eyes that she was tiring. It had been, he supposed, a long day. He bent down, swept her legs out from under her. She made a soft surprised little yelp, then clung to his shoulders.

“You’re being a ridiculous old fool,” she groused. “Put me down. Ain’t that delicate. I can walk.”

“You’re carrying enough.” She tucked her face into his neck and all he smelled was flowers. Truthfully, even as big as she was, she still felt small.  So small. Never was she weak, but he would spare her what he could.

“You’re gonna strain yer back,” she mumbled, a golden glow to her cheeks. He snorted.

“I’ve carried coal up from the mines that weighed more than you.” She made a face, only for a moment, but it was there. He diverted to a different comparison, banishing Hadestown out of his vocabulary for the moment. “Had to carry your daddy six leagues once when he broke his leg in Crete. This is _nothing_ in comparison.”

“You’re still a damn fool,” she said, but the tone was warm. She helped him open the door to their room, and with the deepest of reverence, he slowly put her on her side of the bed, in the bower of pillows she’d accumulated. She quickly tugged at the overalls, tugging them down until they were swaddled around her hips before curling onto her side. He swallowed. He’d been seven months without her now, and every glimpse of her skin was leaving him in more and more agony. Nothing vigorous, they had said; what he wanted was…vigorous. Very, _very_ vigorous.

“Come here,” she cooed and he needed very little prompting to curl up in her little bower with her. That had been perhaps his favorite part of getting this far; she’d shifted into a nesting mode, and he’d been very pleased to find said nesting included him.

He curled himself into the curve of her little shoulder and kissed the bare skin there. His hand drifted to her belly, slowly rubbing little circles in her skin. “I missed ya,” he murmured. “All day, I missed ya.”

“Missed you too.” She curled one hand lightly into his hair; he scooted a little closer, moved his hands into a right and proper cuddle. They stayed that way a long moment and he debated bringing up how she’d gone further than she said she would, and how he should bring up such a potential minefield – he did not particularly wish to argue.

“I’m sorry,” she said, to his surprise; he leaned up, eyebrows out in surprise. “Bout the girl, I mean. Rosalia.”

“Oh,” he said. He hadn’t expected her to concede before he’d even gotten onto the metaphorical field.

“Didn’t mean to take her so far, but once I talked to her, I realized…You were right.” She looked over at him, her eyes slightly haunted. “I didn’t give her a chance, and she would have been…” She squeezed his hand. “Mighty fine girl. Could have been ours…and I couldn’t let her suffer longer than she had to.”

“Oh, it’s not –” He swallowed. She had pivoted to a darker stain, one that had hurt him and now she had put a bandaid over the wound, so many years after it had gone to fester. “It’s a…alright. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

“It hurt then.” She ran her hand down his chest hair, lightly tugging it; he put his hand over her own. “Couldn’t deal with it.”

“I know.” He kissed the tip of her head. “No more apologies. We promised.”

She nodded, shifted til she pressed up against his chin. “Could name one after her," he offered. "Rosalia’s a pretty name.”

“No,” she frowned into his chest. “Don’t feel right.”

“Oh? You got a better name in mind?”

“No.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, quiet. “Just rather wait till we know.”

“Alright.” That was understandable. He changed topics a bit. “Got some materials for the cradle coming.”

“Mmm?” Her eyes were fluttering shut; more tired than he thought, perhaps. “You went and did that? Wouldn’t have thought you’d _linger_.”

“Deme helped.”

She snorted into his chest. “ _Deme_. Sounds so weird to hear you say Ma’s name like that.” She opened one eye and looked at him, the next question surprisingly quick out of her mouth. “She-she got a nickname for you ‘sides _that man_? Maybe we could –”

“Dis,” he said; this produced a louder round of giggling.

“ _Dis_ ,” she giggled. “ _Dis_. Oh, we are not naming our son Dis. Aidoneus, maybe; prettier variation.”

“No,” he said. “Deserves their own name, I think. Not weighed down by our history.” And what a heavy history it was.

“I was thinking carnations,” she said, “for the cradle pattern.” She traced one lazily in his chest; he was surprised when it formed on her fingertips, easy as pie. “Was this that brought you back to me, and all.”

“We can do that,” he said. “We can do that.”

“Okay.” She yawned into his chest and he let her nod off; the quiet too sacred a space to interrupt. He picked up the carnation, twirled it between his fingers.

There was so much up in the air, but he was hopeful about the future, for the first time in a long time. He wasn’t sure what would happen with the new town and the old town, but he had time to figure it out.

Instead, he twirled the flower, and imagined how he’d cut the pattern into the wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love always to FrenchToastandSourdough for helping me proofread!
> 
> Apologies that this chapter is _so very_ late - November tends to be my busiest month, and between writing [And If You Want Another Kind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21470191) and [Every New Beginning (Comes From Some Other Beginning's End)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739726)-both of which had due dates so I was trying to get them done ahead of this one - and getting clobbered at work, I ran out of time to write this as quickly as I would have liked to, and then, of course, the fact that this chapter is _twice_ as large as any of the others (HOW) didn't help. The series is not and will not be abandoned; I am already hard at work on the next chapter, which will be Seph dealing with the workers a couple decades prior to this one. 
> 
> This will probably be the only update until next year; unfortunately, the holidays tend to be a crazy time and I don't want to promise what I cannot deliver. I am hoping, however, to still be able to get it to you within the first week or so of January. Still, I hope you will enjoy it, and hopefully, I will be able to catch up with all the amazing feedback you all have given me (which, THANK YOU, seriously, it puts a smile on my face every time!). For those who have stuck with this fic through all the delays: thank you, thank you, thank you. 
> 
> Chapter Notes:
> 
> Triangle Girls/Rosalia - The triangle girls are a reference to the [Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triangle_Shirtwaist_Factory_fire), where 148 women and men were killed in a workplace accident. Rosalia is based on a composite of some of the victims, particularly those of the Maltese family. 
> 
> Rosalie's struggles to talk are a guess as to what might have happened to Eurydice had she stayed longer in the Underworld - as she seems to already be forgetting Orpheus in Act 2, it makes sense to me that they would eventually forget EVERYTHING, evne how to talk. 
> 
> Pater Meus - "my father" in Latin; used occasionally in Roman Catholic masses to refer to God such as in [A. Tučapský's song "Pater meus"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJWeJH3-0Rs)
> 
> consoled not to fear the fire - in greek mythology, Demeter attempts to make a mortal child immortal by _literally burning the mortal out of them_ after feeding them some nectar/ambrosia. Hades thinks (probably rightly) fire victims might be skittish over having such done to them. 
> 
> questo Purgatorio - Italian for this purgatory. Purgatory is a Catholic afterlife concept for those that are neither truly good nor truly bad, and must "prove" themselves purified to go to heaven. 
> 
> “Il Paradiso e il infierno" - Heaven or hell, both Christian concepts of an afterlife, heaven being super awesome and hell being...the polar opposite of awesome.
> 
> Panagia - one of Hades and Seph's many kids who didn't make it. The name is greek and is translated as "All-holy". It is often used as a title for Mary, the mother of God, in Catholicism. 
> 
> prickly juniper - Artemis' present to her sister Persephone once upon a time, a part of the Cypress family. Cypress, being considered sacred to Artemis and commonly described as being in the Underworld, seemed a good gift.
> 
> Madonna - Rosalia mistakes Persephone for the Virgin Mary, aka the mother of God in her own religion. 
> 
> of an age a mortal maiden forsook Artemis and her ilk - women who were about to be brides would go through a Ceremony in Ancient Greece where they offered a symbolic sacrifice of different elements of their girlhood to Artemis; Hades is saying Persephone was a bit older than any of the mortals of the time may have been upon their wedding day. 
> 
> Anesidora - Hades calls Persephone and Demeter the Anesidora women because it's a title shared between them; it means the "spender of gifts". He's using it because he is annoyed that they're "spending" every good idea he thinks he has. 
> 
> Deme/Dis - childhood nicknames for Demeter and Hades both, in the Hadestown universe of this fic. They haven't been getting along well enough to use them before this. 
> 
> Cora - a modernized version of Kore, one of Persephone's titles and the name, in this universe, her neighbor Gladys used to call her. 
> 
> Seigneur - a rather archaic way of saying "lord" that is used in French Roman Catholic masses as a way to refer to Jesus. 
> 
> shoofly - a [mollasses pie](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shoofly_pie). Glady's specialty, as it happens.
> 
> One extra note: you might see the chapter's bump up by one - I've gotten a couple of requests on discord to put in a chronological version of the stories, so I'll be making ch1 an index that will roughly group everything in chronological order, and the current ch 1 will become ch 2.


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